Harry Potter and the Chain of Command: Year One
by John Sparta
Summary: Logical. Calm under fire. Trained to win. This Harry Potter is well equipped to deal with any threat.  The wizarding world will never know what hit it.
1. Fire in the Hole

Hello, I LIVE! I finally have a grip on College and have this story hashed out. Bonus cookies to whomever guesses the series and characters referenced in this chapter.

"Speech."

_"Thought."_

_Spells/Incantations_

* * *

><p>A rather large man fell onto his couch alongside his wife in their sitting room. It was an ordinary room, attached to an equally ordinary house, with decent furniture and an unassuming paint scheme. Upon the mantle of the fire there stood some twenty photographs of the large man, a rather reedy woman, and a slightly overweight boy; the pictures, of course, showed the family in various outfits and locales. Yet there was one subject missing from those reflective frames, the focus of the apparent patriarch's current exasperation.<p>

"I'm telling you, Petunia, that boy isn't _normal_," said the man, "He's one of _them_ after all. And he'll be going to school this year, what if something happens? What'll we tell the faculty, eh? If he pulls another odd stunt like moving my order forms again we're finished!"

About a month earlier the boy in question had somehow shoved an entire indexed stack of order forms for drill bits onto the floor, where it had proceeded to virtually detonate, scattering the forms into such a disheveled mess that it had taken near on an hour to track them all down, and another two to re-sort them. They, the papers and the boy, had been on opposite sides of the kitchen at the time.

"We've put up with his freakishness for five full years, love, and he won't stop! Since day one his… _abnormality_ has been plaguing us! Chores, punishments, yelling, _beating_, and it's still in my house. Well I won't have it near others, not if he'll bring down all kinds of unwanted attention on our heads!"

Petunia looked pensive for a moment and then thought out loud, "We've tried to force it out of him Vernon, but he keeps _doing it_. What if…" She trailed off, gazing toward the kitchen as if searching for something.

"If?"

She looked back at him, "Remember that dinner we had with your sister the other week, what was it she mentioned about some sort of school opening in a month or so?"

Vernon nodded. He remembered all right: it was a military academy, some type of boarding school or another that had dorms and…

His face paled, "You're not considering… A _military_ academy? How could we afford that? I'd sooner burn money than waste it on that freak!" By the end of his expulsion, Vernon had turned red at the mere thought.

"Well, we are sent that payment for his upkeep; if we use that to pay then the cost should be covered. Besides, Vernon, think about it: He'll be gone for _months_ at a time! Isn't that worth a few pounds? It'll just be you and me and Diddykins."

Vernon sighed and relaxed, thinking about not having to watch the wiry little bugger all the time and being able to enjoy a meal without the boy potentially blowing up his sausage. Again.

"You do have a point love," He conceded; then added, "And think of this: who better to straighten the boy out than a good old-fashioned drill sergeant? A year with that'll have him jumping to attention!" A grin spread across Vernon's face at the image of a black haired boy saluting him as he came home from work. "Alright then, darling, I'll look into it tomorrow. Have to deliver a report to my manager anyway, so it won't be a wasted trip. If all goes well, we'll be rid of him in September!"

* * *

><p>"Potter, Harry?" The instructor called out. A small, black haired, green-eyed boy stood at the call.<p>

He, Harry, stood in a rather stark room, no extraneous posters or arts and crafts as far as he could see. There were no monkey bars out on the grounds, and no teeter-totter either. This place was really different from his old school…

"Cadets, this is our newest member. He will be with us for the foreseeable future so try to incorporate him. Remember: We are a part of Her Majesty's armed forces. What do we hold above all else?"

The class, excepting Harry of course, replied as a whole: "Teamwork above all!"

"Right in one. Cadet Potter, in time you will learn this as closely as we have. Here we are a unit, not a collection of individuals. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," said Harry.

"Sir, yes sir," corrected the instructor, "I am your superior, you will address me as such. Are we clear?"

"Sir, yes sir."

The instructor grinned, "We may just have an easy first year yet."

The entire class, save Harry once again, laughed

* * *

><p>"Blues 2-8, go right; 9-13, you're with me. Potter!"<p>

Harry's head snapped up, "Sir!" He barked, "Orders, sir?"

It had been four years since he had started at the Colonel Ackerson Military Academy (CAMA) and the cadets had become big enough to be deemed fit for rounds of capture the flag about four months ago. Carrying plastic-pellet rifles, of course. Realism and all that.

During this particular exercise, Harry's teammate Kurt had been appointed leader of Blue Team. As such, his orders were law.

"I want you to cover our out. You have the "explosives", right?"

"Affirmative sir, we won't be run down if I have anything to say about it."

In this exercise they were located in a decent patch of forest near one of the military's numerous bases around the country. The teams had been driven nearby, separated, and then given their mission objectives. Blue was to capture, Red to defend. Simple enough. The exercise would end when all of Blue team had been eliminated, or the Red flag had been captured and returned to the temporary camp for the instructors.

"Good. Keep your ears up and your head on a swivel. Do not let the Reds find you. Don't let them take this spot."

"Sir, yes sir."

Kurt cracked a smile at that. Harry always took his orders seriously, and he always carried out his orders. Perfectly.

"Alright; all cadets on the right, wait for my charge, then join in. Grab the flag and run. I want two members on each team on overwatch. We move in silen…"

Kurt's voice trailed off as he walked away. Harry didn't mind not hearing the rest; he had his orders already. He dashed from tree to tree, planting small canisters with care. Harry held the activation switch in his pocket and as soon as his team came back he was going to prime _all_ of the motion sensors. A parting gift to any pursuers. His task done, Harry sank into the shadows of a large tree on the edge of their clearing, trying his best to blend as a warmth blossomed from his chest. The other team always fell for his ambushes. They never saw him coming.

Two minutes later, a large squad of Reds, at least half of their whole team, moved into the clearing. One of them spoke.

"You think they'll come through here then, Pat?"

Pat, the apparent leader nodded, "Yea, this is the only quick way back to base. And we'll be right here waiting."

The Reds chuckled.

"Don't get relaxed," barked Pat, "We need to set up a perimeter. Remember what CPO O'Connell taught us." There were nods all around. The team slowly spread out, sweeping through the foliage.

Harry watched from above, having slinked his way up the tree while his opponents were talking. Now that Harry got a good look at them, there were nine trainees. More than half of their force was here! A bolt of fear shot through Harry. How was he going to take them all out? He quickly took inventory: his rifle, his sidearm, the paint bombs planted around the clearing… And his faux combat knife.

Harry grinned as a plan formed in his head. Directly below him was one of the trainees, and what good fortune: it was Pat! As silently as he could, he drew his knife and unholstered his pistol. Then he dropped to the ground below in a crouch, just behind Pat. His target did not hear him. Harry raised the knife, then drew a blue line across Pat's throat. A small gasp escaped Pat before he obliged the rules and fell, "dead." The nearest Red began to turn.

"_I need to be somewhere else," _thought Harry, _" I need to be over there!"_

As his need rose, a familiar warmth rose with it. He let it envelop him; and without even a sigh of wind, he was gone. Harry found himself in a flickering, shadowy version of his clearing. Deciding to muse on this gift later he ran towards the other side of the glade, and through one of the cadets. Placing himself behind the tree, he pulled at his power, dragging It back within himself. As he faded back to normalcy, Harry felt exhausted. Delegating the shock to some other time he leant around the tree.

A cry had arisen from the Red: "Pat's down, Pat's down!"

"What, how?" Came the response.

"Looks like a knife!"

As the others rushed forward chattering about the improbability of a knifeman vanishing that quickly, Harry grinned again. Never let it be said that Cadet Potter ever let an advantage go to waste! The grinning boy quickly unlimbered his rifle and took aim. A quick flick and the safety was off, a pull and tens of small plastic pellets flew from his barrel every second, pelting the unfortunate Reds where they stood. One by one, they fell as the rules demanded.

Once he had put another round in each of them to ensure their "deaths" he strode forward. "Do you know what you did wrong?" He asked. None answered. "You all grouped up when Pat fell. Easy targets."

The Reds groaned; that was one of the first things their Sergeant had taught them! Never bunch up!

Harry laughed at their noises of discontent. "Yea, Sarge'll be really unhappy with you lot. What'll this be then? The fifth time I got the drop on you? Ouch."

Harry was still chuckling when Kurt's team returned with the flag. "Potter, what's so fun- oh. You got them again?"

Harry straightened. "Yes sir, took the commander out and the others bunched up. Like shooting fish in a barrel, sir." Harry still couldn't suppress the grin.

Kurt and the others grinned back, "We were wondering where the rest of them were! Light resistance at their base, planning to ambush us were they?"

Before Harry could answer a smattering of rounds tore through the leaves overhead. Blue Team ducked. "Oh sod it all, run!" cried Kurt as the blues beat a hasty retreat. "Guess we missed the heavy gunners then eh? Potter, give 'em their present!"

Harry nodded while falling to the rear and fished out the trigger, then promptly dropped it. Without thinking he reached out to it with his power and _pulled_. The small mechanism raced back into his hand and he hurriedly punched the activation key. Not two seconds later cries of dismay emanated from the booby-trapped clearing as the dull thuds of paint bombs sounded off.

Harry smirked and raced all the way back to the outskirts of the wood. His team was waiting for him. With a roar they hoisted him onto their shoulders and made their way back to the camp, cheering all the while.

* * *

><p>As Harry lay in his bunk he stared at his hand in the half-light of the moon. How had he traveled like that in the woods? He knew that he could move things without touching them, people never found him when he didn't want them to, but that? That was new.<p>

Harry had become aware of his "asset" when he was five. He had begun honing his talent almost immediately afterward, fearing that if he had not used it the powers would have faded away. Harry had become very adept at moving things, and even people, even before his start at the academy. Afterward, he had needed every bit of his talents to win the games that the instructors had the cadets play. Tripping other runners, slowing his own falls off of an obstacle in the course, speeding himself up, all had become second nature.

"_This shadow walking thing though, what caused it?" _Harry wondered. He tried to recreate the feeling he had had when his "fade" had occurred: the panic, the _fear_. Slowly, a warm tingle spread through him, and he faded into the grayish world.

"_I wonder," _Harry thought, _"Can I touch things?"_ He moved to grab one of his books, and his hand went _through_ it. Startled, he shifted back and pain lanced up his arm. Harry's hand had _fused_ to the book! Harry clutched his arm to himself, he couldn't think, he couldn't even scream! Desperate, he shifted his hand into the shadows, and he felt the intrusion disentangle and let it drop. No longer in contact with Harry, the book blurred back into tangibility and fell onto his lap.

Harry gasped in relief; that had _hurt_, damn it! He was careful to not entangle with anything else when he shifted back into the Grey. This time he merely passed his hand close to his sheets, and a sort of pressure kept him away from their surface.

"_Huh," _he thought, _"Objects naturally repel here. Guess that's how I didn't fuse to the bed."_ Just to test, Harry pushed his hand through the barrier and found himself reaching into his mattress. After pulling his hand out, he felt exhaustion wash over him. Fading back into solidity, Harry fell back onto his bed, and was asleep before he hit the pillow.

* * *

><p>Vernon turned off the telly and opened the door at the knock. On the other side stood his wife, son, and nephew all returning from Col. Ackerson's. Vernon smiled at his boy.<p>

"Have a good school year, son?"

Dudley had been signed up to attend the Academy a year after Harry. After seeing the positive change a single year there had given their nephew, it seemed only fitting to send their son as well.

Dudley nodded, "Yea Dad, woulda had a better time if Harry'd not always got the drop on us in training. The Sarge was always making us do pushups."

And it showed: Dudley possessed, for an soon to be twelve-year-old, massive arms and a torso to match. No sign of the slightly rotund boy from years gone by. This Dudley was trim and proper in his cadet's uniform.

"Ah, he did, did he?" Vernon eyed Harry warily, "And what'd the trainers have you do then, nephew?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "Our team ran the entire time the others were doing pushups or sit-ups. Same as last year, sir."

Vernon beamed, here was a sight that warmed his heart: his son was happy and healthy, his nephew was polite and normal, he himself was much trimmer due to taking a renewed interest in exercise, and his wife had a bit more meat on her bones after eating the same hearty meals he and the boys did. Life was good for Vernon Dursley.

"Come on in, then. Dudley, did you receive any awards or accolades?"

Dudley dropped his bag near the sofa as his father sat near his mother and fished out a small burgundy medal. "Yea, I got this one for being captured, and then busting myself out again with their flag." Vernon and Petunia applauded with vigor, a new medal to show off to the neighbors!

Harry groaned on his way up the stairs, "One of the few times his team makes off with the flag, and he tears half of my team apart to do it. Then he hightailed it back to base, while muling all of our weapons!"

Dudley jabbed back with: "Oh, don't be so glum Harry! You managed to get a pat to, right? 'Special talent for stealth, reconnaissance, and covert operation,' I think the sarge said."

By this time Harry had come back down the stairs to be part of the group. His Aunt and Uncle weren't horrible anymore, in fact it was actually fairly pleasant to be around them. He did remember his treatment from before though; and so would always toe the line, which was why he had brought his school report with him.

"That'll be your summary then?" Asked his Uncle, as expected. Harry nodded.

"Well, let's see!" Vernon took the paper from the wiry lad and began to read.

Harry turned and asked over his shoulder, "Anyone want some lunch? I'm making some hodge-podge out of the fridge."

Vernon grunted his assertion, still reading, as did Dudley as he stowed his medal. Petunia though, "No thank you, I had a sandwich on the way to picking you two up."

Harry gave a thumbs up without looking back.

Vernon set aside his nephew's rather excellent school summary and motioned for his son to hand over his. All was right in the world, his wife had gone to help Harry make the lunch, and nothing would bring him down from his contentment.

* * *

><p>Albus Dumbledore watched as the owl entrusted with Harry Potter's letter flew off into the dusk just before dawn. He had placed a special charm on the parchment to know when Harry first opened his letter. Ten years of plans being set, ten years of preparing obstacles and tests. Dumbledore had finally arrived at the tipping point, the point where his meticulously laid path for Harry Potter would finally be put to use, the point where he would begin moulding the perfect weapon of the Light.<p>

Harry had likely led an isolated existence, deprived of friends or compassion, thanks to the manaphobic Dursleys. He was in just the right condition for the first of many personality structuring moves.

Everything was in place.

The aged man interlaced his fingers as the first fingers of dawn speared the sky. A single thought ran through his mind.

_"Happy birthday, young Harry."_


	2. Assessments and Discoveries

_AN: Hullo everyone! I'm back, and I have a quick disclaimer that applies to the entire fic. I do not, nor have I ever, own, in part or in whole, the Harry Potter characters or settings. As a side note, neither do I have any claim on other cool series such as Halo, Fable, Legend of Zelda, etc. All new characters, ideas, or settings created by me are, however, owned by me; regardless of their use in the fiction._

_Onward!_

_Note: As of May, 10, I have updated chapters 2 and 3. A more in depth note is in that next chapter._

* * *

><p>Vernon Dursley sat in his dining room. On his right sat his son eating a hearty plate of eggs, bacon, waffles, and orange juice. Same as Vernon, actually. On his left was his wife, her plate being sans bacon and with a salad. In the adjoining kitchen was his nephew, Harry, cooking his own portion of the morning meal. The weirdo liked his bacon nearly burnt, and his waffles cooked with syrup <em>in<em> the batter, that was fine by Vernon. So long as it was made apart from his own helpings.

There was a knock from the door, and a faint metallic sound as the mail flap quickly opened and closed. The post had arrived, and with it the morning paper.

"Harry! Mail's here. Go and grab it when you're done doling your food out."

"Yes sir, Uncle Vernon."

Vernon smiled serenely, that was something he would never get tired of. Proper respect!

Harry quickly moved his food out of the cookware and onto his plate. The bacon was a little pale for his taste, but better to be quick about the mail.

Backing out of the kitchen he felt a sudden sensation, as if something was bearing down on his position. Training took over and he quickly rolled behind the couch as the kitchen door swung shut. Peering out from behind his cover he saw a rather thick yellowed envelope fall through the mail slot and onto the pile. The feeling that screamed "Intrusion! Be Alert!" dimmed, but was still present. Harry had no doubt it came from the letter, laying so innocently on the step.

Cautiously moving out of cover, Harry crept toward the door. As he moved closer, he saw that the topmost letter had no return address, only the recipient. Another half step closer and the words became clear.

_To Mister Harry James Potter_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_Number Four Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

Panic gripped Harry, how had anyone found out he had_ lived under the stairs_? It had been years since he had slept there, and he had never told anyone, so how did they know?

"_I'm being observed. Long term too by any indication. They must've stopped a while back though. Why?" _Harry thought, quickly scanning the room for cameras or listening devices. On his second week back he had personally cleaned the living room and the foyer; there had been nothing then. Glancing out of the window, he bent to pick up the letter.

As his fingers brushed the parchment, Harry's senses flew wide open. Something in him, his talent, his power, recognized the letter as something like itself. He could _feel_ the power locked in the letter, he could _feel_ the pulse it sent out when he touched it. And he was then aware of the power that surrounded him, that was tied to him, that felt as if it stretched over a wide area; not unlike his notice-me-not talent.

Slightly dazed, he pocketed the letter. There was no way Vernon was getting his hands on it. Quickly gathering up the rest of the messages, he double-timed it back to the kitchen. He had to act normally, he _had_ to. The Dursleys would be gone in an hour, Vernon to work and his aunt and cousin to a clothing store. All three would be gone for several hours. Harry had all the time in the world.

* * *

><p>The Dursleys had gone, now it was just Harry, the letter, and some answers. In his bedroom, Harry examined the seal on the back of the parchment. Red wax, with a lion, snake, badger, and some sort of bird. Maybe an eagle. All were surrounding a large letter "H."<p>

Harry popped the seal and felt another wave of energy pulse through him. Now that he knew to expect it, he could "taste" a sort of flavor on that wave, the same flavor as on the first, and traces of which were incorporated into the fields surrounding Number Four. Whomever was responsible for the letter had a hand in all three incidences of power not Harry's own. It was just like his instructors said: _"Once is luck, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action."_

Brushing the envelope to the side of his desk Harry unfolded the letter and began to read, shifting slightly to gain batter light from the window.

_Dear Mister Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We expect your owl no later than July 31._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Well, that brought up more questions than answers; and so thought Harry. No pulse of energy, no flare of power. _"Huh. Wait, equipment list? This'll be more enlightening. Study the supply lines and deduce enemy purpose."_

And so Harry pulled the second parchment to the fore.

_UNIFORM:_

_First year students will require:_

_Three sets of plain works robes (black)_

_One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have one copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT _

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also being an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS, NOR MAY THEY USE THEIR MAGIC OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL. THE MINISTRY MONITORS UNDERGE MAGIC._

"_Ah," _thought Harry, _"and here we acquire some information at last!"_

And indeed the letter was most helpful. It revealed several aspects about these "Wizards" for lack of a better term. They possessed a government, they had a large enough population to create a school, they likely had a trade area or center of commerce, and most importantly: they could detect magic.

"_How have I not been contacted about mine though? Have I hidden it well enough? No, no, they likely can't detect it; but why?" _Harry's mind whirled as he searched for an answer. None came to him, not at that moment at any rate.

Well, first thing was first: he needed to gain access to their shopping areas. Harry would need to somehow track a wizard there, or convince one to divulge a location.

"_Think. THINK. No one normal, non-magic rather, knows about magic. If children can use it there are bound to be accidents so there must be someone to clean up afterward. Someone to keep the secret." _

Harry grinned. If a group of persons were in charge of cleaning up magical incidents, then he had the perfect bait. All he needed was a location… There was work to be done.

* * *

><p>Today was a bad day to be Horace Watkins. He had just started his new job as an Obliviator for the Ministry of Magic (MoM), lost his badge after using the toilet, accidentally rammed the Minister head-on coming out of said loo, and now there was a report of an alternately white and red shrubbery in Surrey that repeatedly shouted "Nii!" at muggle passerby. Guess which crew was assigned to clean<em> that<em> up?

Horace sighed and apparated away from the gleaming entrance hall of the MoM. Bloody muggle-baiters…

* * *

><p>Harry did his best to camouflage his presence in the park; spells, he knew now that he used magic, to ensure that he would not be noticed by passers-by. And for good measure he waited in the Grey. If anyone could find him there, he would eat his shoes. Not ten minutes after he cast his illusions on the shrubs there was a soft "pop," and a man in ridiculous clothes appeared out of thin air. Harry froze, not wanting to draw any attention to himself, Grey or not. He watched as the man muttered to himself on his way to the affected foliage.<p>

"Stupid muggle-baiters. As if my day in London wasn't bad enough already, now I have to disenchant a plant? After this, I'm retiring to the Aurors. No serious crime in the last decade, cushy job that."

Harry made mental notes as the man spoke; obviously "muggles" were non-magic people and these "aurors" were some sort of police force. Their center of government may very well be in London. Very valuable intel, and not twenty seconds had passed. Harry crept closer, hoping to gain more from the chatty wizard.

"Then I get a note from the wife, _'Horace, you've got to go into Diagon Alley and pick up some herbs from the apothecary.'_ The hell do I look like, a bloody owl? Ah, here we are…"

The man pulled a rod of wood from his pocket and Harry's "magic sense" could feel the inherent power in it. Even more impressive was how that power meshed with whatever spell the man was casting, amplifying and shaping it into a far more coherent web of magic. It was… interesting, to say the least. The bushes returned to their previous existence.

"There now, that should hold. Better pop off to the alley, 'fore I forget."

With another loud "pop," the man had vanished. Within the Grey, Harry could see a tiny void where the man had been. A fist-sized chunk of black in the otherwise grey-toned world. Harry could feel a pull from the void. He had to make a decision fast: the hole was rapidly shrinking. With a quiet swear, Harry plunged his fist into the hole.

Immediately, Harry could feel that something was not right. He was being stretched far beyond the breaking point, and compressed so tightly he wondered how he was still alive. Pain burned along every nerve, and he couldn't breathe!

Suddenly, as quick as they began, the sensations of compression and elongation vanished. The shock of it caused Harry to fall out of the Grey, and into the most bizarre place he had ever imagined.

Bright colors and daylight assaulted his eyes, loud pops and bangs filled his ears, smells of a dozen sources and characters assailed him, and over it all was the feeling of _magic_. It was everywhere, pressing in on all sides and behaving in odd manners: spinning and whirling, drifting like a haze, and one even felt like a solid mass!

Harry reacted on instinct: he pulled his magic from within and surrounded himself in a tight field of energy, forcing away all of the foreign enchantments and spells. Finally, without his sixth sense being overwhelmed, Harry could inspect his surroundings. He appeared to have arrived very near the center of the alley: far to his right was a brick wall, equally distant to the left was an ornate white building. The apparent caps on the magical madness within.

Observing the locals, Harry quickly realized that he stood out in a big way. Every other person in his sight was wearing robes, of all things! In his denim pants, trainers, and tight T-shirt, Harry was as innocuous as a bee in an ant farm. He needed to find a way to blend in, the sooner the better. Harry began walking down the street, towards the white building, acting as though there were nothing out of place. A big part of invisibility was attitude. Of course that would only work for so long…

As he walked, Harry began to notice that wizards used different currency than did, well, "muggles" was easier to say. They, the wizards, used coins in three colors and sizes: large gold ones, small bronze ones, and silver coins that fit somewhere in between. Nowhere was there paper money. Harry began to feel uneasy.

"_How am I to pay for all of this? I haven't any money like that, nor an idea of how to get hold of some."_

Fortune smiled on Harry, for a rather regal looking blonde man strode by. The man was clearly agitated, if the snarl on his face and the grip on his cane were any indications. "Bloody house elf," he spat, "making me look like a fool. He neglected to refill my money pouch this morning. Now we must waste valuable time amongst those goblin bankers. Come Draco, keep up!"

Only then did Harry catch sight of the boy, Draco apparently, following close behind the man. The two were evidently father and son; their hair was the same color, eyes, cloaks, even their sneers were similar!

Well, if the two kindly gentlemen wanted to lead Harry to the nearest bank who was he to refuse? With a grin Harry began to tail the pair through the throng, always maintaining a safe distance.

Idle chit-chat from the two filled the next few minutes of Harry's _tour de magique. _Before long, the three stood at the foot of the white building; the bank, Harry now realized. The two blond males stepped briskly through the double doors and were lost in the interior, but Harry had caught sight of an engraving on the outside and lingered to read.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_If you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

As his eyes reached the bottom of the passage, Harry could feel a cloud of magic flow toward him. It ebbed and flowed, churning violently and spiraling around his shield. For no reason Harry could discern the magic sank back into the stone, no doubt waiting for the next reader. The only way he could have described the magic as it had retreated was… _tired_. After assuring himself that no alien magic had attached to him, Harry entered.

A great hall swept out from the doors, larger than the exterior should have allowed. Short, hewn looking creatures manned desks and delivered papers to others of their kind. They were possessed of long, sharp noses and ears, their hands ended in strong, thin fingers. With a start, Harry remembered the blonde man's words: "goblin bankers." The stout beings were _goblins_!

_"By Helheim's Gate, look at the teeth_ on that one! _Oh, balls__. I hope that they value being polite. And don't want to eat me."_

Harry made his way to an available teller. The goblin looked up from his sheaf of paper and asked, "Yes?"

His voice was craggly and low, like gravel on gravel.

"I am sorry to bother you, master goblin, but I seem to be new to the magical world. I was wondering whether you would be willing to render aid."

Harry had obviously done something right: the goblin puffed up proudly and set aside his parchment. Gazing down his long nose at Harry, he answered.

"I happen to be free at the moment. What may I do for you?"

Harry was about to ask whether he could exchange some small bills, when several overheard conversations filled his mind. Every instance of his aunt and uncle calling his parents "freaks," having "freakishness," or being otherwise similar to the old names for Harry and his magic.

He changed his question on impulse.

"I would like to know if my parents left me anything when they died."

The goblins eyes sparkled with mirth, as though the ideas of humans dying and orphans were quietly amusing. "Certainly. Your name, human?"

"Harry Potter."

The goblin's eyes widened, no mirth showed now. The beady eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead, as though searching for something. The goblin whispered, "The scar, he has the scar… Follow me, Mister Potter."

More quickly than blinking, the goblin had deserted his rather high chair and began walking briskly to a stone door flanked by armored members of his race. With a nod, the door opened, and Harry had to dash through to avoid being crushed. He followed the goblin through a maze of tunnels, eventually coming to a stop outside of a rather plain door. With a stroke of the goblin's finger the door unlocked and Harry was ushered through.

Harry stood on a stone platform near the entrance to what looked like a massive underground ravine. Great stalactites hung from the ceiling hundreds of feet above while their much thicker twins below rose up to create the illusion of a great set of teeth. A rickety little track seemed to dive into the stone maw, an uncomfortably small mining cart sitting astride it. The goblin trundled over to the cart, grabbing a nearby red lamp and motioning with his hand as he did so.

"If you please." Harry knew a polite order when he heard one, and so clambered into the cart after the short creature.

"Hold tight to the bars, please." No sooner had Harry done so then the mining cart had shot across the short length of track before plummeting into the ground. Harry's bile rose, but he kept it down by keeping his mouth occupied with his screams of terror. He could have sworn that the goblin was grinning, though Harry couldn't be sure without devoting more thought away from fear.

They sped along narrow cliff sides on the edges of _massive_ caverns: hundreds, if not thousands, of feet were between them and the bottom. Enormous underground lakes and rivers flashed by, flanked by even more impressive sets of rocky fangs than the entrance boasted. After a few short minutes full of hairpin turns and sharp drops, the duo came to a halt near the middle of a long row of circular, numbered doors. The goblin exited first.

"Vault number six-hundred-eighty-seven. Do you have your key?"

Harry mumbled a quiet "No," still too shaken for proper speech.

"No matter. Prick you finger on the spike to the right of the door." Harry shambled over to comply. Once the blood stained the metal, several clicks were heard from the opposite side of the door. Harry peered around the frame. A small room lay beyond, with three large stone bowls placed in the middle. Each was filled with a different kind of coin, gold, silver and bronze. Harry turned to ask, "What're these-"

"Gold Galleons, Silver Sickles and Bronze Knuts. Tewnty-nine Knuts to the Sickle, seventeen Sickles to the Galleon."

Harry frowned. "And how many galleons to the Pound?"

"Five pounds to the Galleon." Harry frowned again, trying to estimate how many of the coins were in the vault.

"Do you have the balance?" The goblin nodded before pulling a sheaf of parchment from his jacket.

"The Potter Trust Vault, for use by one Henry James Potter, containing approximately seven-hundred galleons; "To be refilled to the sum of five-hundred galleons per year on July the thirty-first once the total sum of the vault has fallen below that amount. This vault is to merge with the main Potter Vault on July the thirty-first of the year 1528 M.M,"

Harry quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. "1528 M.M? What does that mean?"

"Fifteen-hundred years after the death of Merlin, as proscribed by wizard kind."

"What year is it now?" This time it was the goblin who looked askance.

"The year is 1522, I believe." Harry nodded his thanks, then used a leather bag to collect a decent amount of money. As the door was closing, and the duo were re-embarking the cart, Harry asked: "Who's keeping my vault for me?"

"I believe it is Albus Dumbledore. Now hold on, the ride up is a bit more rough than the ride down."

* * *

><p>Harry Potter walked out of Gringott's Wizarding Bank with a bag full of galleons, the name of the goblin who had escorted him, and the name of the man overseeing his finances.<p>

Harry frowned as he recalled Griphooks's reaction to his face. Apparently he was well known in the wizarding world, especially his scar. He grimaced, as he knew what he must do to stay inconspicuous. Harry focused on his face, willing it to change. His skin itched as it became slightly darker, his eyes throbbed as they adopted a deep blue hue, his nose burned as it reshaped itself. Where Harry once stood, there was now a Black-haired, blue-eyed, un-scarred, regal looking youth. Kurt, his once-commander.

Harry hated that particular power, it was always uncomfortable; even more so when he made larger changes. Adding six inches would border on torture, and he didn't want to think about the pain of shifting to a full adult.

The newly-reformed Harry decided that his first stop would be in a clothing shop, his disguise couldn't very well blend in as it was. Just as he was determining the best shop by their exterior, he spied the blondes from before exiting a candidate shop a little down the alley. The shop was a little out of the way, seeming to be near an entrance to a shaded side-alley, and slightly rough-looking. Figuring that the snobbish duo wouldn't settle for anything less than the best, Harry entered _Twilfitt and Tattings._

* * *

><p>Harry looked around the store, changing his appearance back to normalcy, still sans scar though. While it possessed a rather lackluster exterior, the decoration of the cloth emporium was quite elegant. Smooth hardwood flooring, rich tapestries on the walls, and private fitting and changing areas. The clothes aligned on the walls were in a multitude of subdued colors ranging from a navy blue to a dusky red. Yes indeed, the blonde snobs had excellent taste.<p>

A man of middling height and brown hair approached Harry. The man wore the traditional tools of the clothing trade: a pincushion on the wrist, measuring tape around the neck, and rolled white sleeves.

"Well, well, let's see then. Hmm… No, it just won't do." Harry blinked confusedly.

"What won't do, sir?" The man frowned a bit at that.

"You can call me Mr. Twilfitt. As for what won't do," he flicked his hand at the wrist, indicating Harry's attire, "I mean everything."

The slightly effeminate man walked to the front of the shop, turning his sign to read "Closed: Fitting in Progress."

"Now, have you at least seventy galleons?" Harry nodded, dumbly. Twilfitt smiled.

"Then let us begin, my boy."

* * *

><p>Harry walked out of Twilfitt and Tattings wearing a new set of wizarding clothes, a bit dazed. The robes had a certain shimmer about them, draped perfectly, and had been enchanted to stay cool even in the summer sun. His shirt was of linen, his pants were of the finest make, and both were tailored to his shape. His shoes were likewise extraordinary, guaranteed to stay shining and bright no matter the weather. The less to be said about the undergarment selection process the better; suffice it to say that Harry's were quite comfy. A set of fine cloth gloves covered his hands, they were a glossy grey and as smooth and cool as the silk that now lined his robes.<p>

Maxwell, as he had requested to be called, had said that the rest would be ready to be picked up in a week; he had also invited Harry to come back should he ever need any sort of wear, "Be it formal or everyday fabulous."

As Harry re-metamorphosed his face, he admired the feel of the cloth.

"_Say what you like about that man, I am never going anywhere else!"_

So, having disguised himself properly, Harry set off to explore the alley and gain hold of the rest of his equipment. As he glanced around, the shop Smith's Trunks caught his eye. Figuring that he would need a place to store his purchases, Harry entered.

A low hum filled the air. This was a more traditional store; with trunks, suitcases, handbags, and all manner of other personal storage arrayed along the walls. Harry could see just past the counter into a workshop where the apparent shopkeeper was using a wand to shape a piece of wood; this was the source of the humming. The man looked up from his work as the door closed.

"Hullo lad, you're a mite early for Hogwarts shopping! The rush usually doesn't start for about another two weeks or so. I'm Horst Smith, pleased to meet you." The man offered a surprisingly calloused hand to Harry. They shook.

"Likewise. My name's Kurt Ambrose. Do you make all of these with magic?"

Horst grinned and took his hand back. "Well, most of them, yes I do. There are some special orders though that have to be hand-crafted."

Harry frowned. "Why ever so? If you could make them with magic, then why not?"

"The thing is," Horst explained jovially, gesturing to the trunks and cabinets around them, "All of these that you see are made for mass purchase, they don't need any special properties so I can just magic them into shape. But an unspoken fact of magic is that if an object is hand-made, it is all the more powerful for it. If I were to forge a sword and you to conjure or transfigure something similar, my sword would be the more resilient. I could un-transfigure your blade but you would have a hard time altering mine, you see?"

Harry nodded uncertainly. "I think so, your personal effort makes it stronger then? Your sweat and hard work make for something more?"

Horst smiled. "Exactly. Hah, you seem a bright enough lad, I'll give you a discount on anything in the shop. What do you have an eye for?"

Harry glanced around the shop, there were so many trunks! All different shapes and sizes, colors and textures, inlays and designs. Remembering what the carpenter had said about power from handcrafting, Harry lowered his barrier. Most of the trunks hummed with energy, the shopkeeper's energy. However, one heavily stained and inlayed trunk toward the back caught his attention. The unique magics within it practically sang with their strength, bands within bands within yet more bands of power were contained within its volume.

The trunk was more akin to an old-time chest, with a rounded top and deep rectangular bottom. Bands of iron formed complex patterns and whorls on the top and sides. There were two small keyholes. Harry laid a hand on it. The wood was cool and smooth.

"You've a good eye there lad." Harry looked up, startled out of his contemplations.

"It took me nearly three months to make that chest. Handcrafted, did most of the ironwork myself, had to hire a runer for some of it. That is one of my best though; setting aside the custom jobs of course!" Horst laughed.

Harry traced the inlays with a finger. Magic thrummed through the metal. "What do these symbols mean?"

"They're for protection and repair. Even I'd be hard pressed to damage this thing, and I crafted it! They also allow the insides to be larger than the outside.

Harry eyed the man suspiciously. "The _insides_? Insides, as in plural?"

Horst chuckled. "Watch boy."

And with that he keyed the first lock. The chest opened to a surprisingly spacious interior, more so than it should have been. It was deep too, deep enough to lay in if one wished.

Horst shut the lid, then keyed the second lock. The chest now opened onto a stone staircase. At Horst's motioning, Harry stepped down. The room, for undoubtedly it was no mere closet, was a respectable size; it was at most six meters by another six. The roof was at least four meters up. It was made completely of stone, plain and ready to be remodeled. Somewhat in awe, Harry clambered out of the trunk.

"That is amazing Mr. Smith. I've never seen anything like it before."

Horst laughed again, he seemed a right jolly fellow. "Well, I'm glad you like it. Took me bloody ages to make."

Harry liked the chest, he liked it very much indeed. Smiling, he said: "If I were to say that I wanted to buy this, how much would it cost me?"

Horst rubbed his hands together. "Well, Mr. Ambrose, I was thinking…"

* * *

><p>Harry exited Smith's Trunks carrying an almost impossibly light trunk, or chest depending on your point of view, under his arm; and he was still reeling slightly over the blow struck to his money pouch. Only half of his withdrawal remained!<p>

"_By Odin's beard," _Harry thought, _"I hope these were the most expensive things out there. Otherwise I'm going to go bankrupt before long!"_

Walking down the alley, with his barrier up and disguise in place, Harry reviewed his list. _"I still need the books, the telescope, the potions supplies… and the wand."_

Deciding to leave the wand for last Harry entered the nearest bookshop, Flourish and Blott's, to purchase the selected titles. While the clerk was rummaging around the back muttering "What a damn… Two weeks earlier than… Have to dig around the new shipm…" Harry perused the shelves, looking for interesting titles.

Spying nothing of worth, to his eyes at least, he was about to turn back when he saw a rather bizarre title. Harry leaned closer to read: _The Adventures of Harry Potter._ A pit formed in Harry's stomach as soon as the title pranced past his brain. Leafing through the thin book, it seemed to describe his early years: him as little more than an exceptionally precocious baby that got into a few harmless misadventures. His eyes began to sting.

Once Harry had rescued his mental faculties from the scenes within those pages, he paced the book on the counter with the rest of them. A sense of morbid curiosity, if you will. After placing them gently in his "normal" trunk space, Harry made his exit.

Taking a slow stride back toward the bank Harry spied a sign that said "Chang's Apothecary." Relishing the tendency of wizards to make everything so convenient, Harry invited himself in.

A short but beautiful black-haired oriental woman minded the counter, looking bored. She smiled as Harry approached. "Well, good afternoon there handsome. What can I do for you?"

Harry glanced around, admiring the wooden drawers, the hung spices, and the jars of liquid and powders. He relaxed his shields slightly and trickles of the ingredients' magic washed over him. Re-applying his personal field Harry answered.

"Ah, yes. I'm going to be leaving for Hogwarts soon and I need the-"

The witch cut him off. "The first-year's starter kit, yes I know. My little Cho had the same last year. I expect that you'll need the cauldron, the scales, and glassware too then?" She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Yes ma'am. I was also wondering where I could get a telescope, for my astronomy class."

The woman giggled as she pulled down a compartmented box and began filling it with herbs and powders in jars. "It's funny, the first-years always ask me where they can buy their telescopes. You can get one just to the right of here, before Ollivander's wand shop."

Eyeing the now full and sealed box Harry asked: "May I have another of these please? I'm fairly prone to tripping and…" He trailed off.

The woman giggled again. "Of course dear, let me just pick another one down."

Now faced with two of the containers, Harry pulled out his pouch and asked how much it would cost.

The woman sucked on her cheek as she ran the figures in her head. "Thirty-nine, twelve, and seven then." She looked at Harry expectantly.

After a few seconds a visibly perplexed and slightly vexed Harry half-shouted: "What?"

The bemused witch doubled over her counter, laughing so hard she was shaking. Every time she would gather herself she would look up into Harry's confused face and burst into a new fit of giggles.

Eventually mustering some measure of self control, she said, "It's galleons, sickles, and knuts handsome. Didn't the other shopkeepers go through this already?"

Harry nodded as he handed over the coins. "Yea, but you looked like you needed a laugh, and that's what the first one did when I looked that confused as to his pricing."

She giggled again. "Well, that's sweet of you. Here you are then."

"Thanks, my name's Kurt. It was nice meeting you."

"I'm Lin Chang. Do come back net time you need supplies!"

Harry laughed his assent as he put away the boxes and left the shop.

* * *

><p>With telescope firmly in case, and massive amounts of parchment and ink bought, Harry entered Ollivander's Wand Shop. It possessed a tranquil air, the noise from the outside was muffled and the lights were comfortably dim. Motes of dust could be seen drifting through the air. Suffused with a sense of security, Harry shifted back to his natural form scar and all. Immediately afterward a white-haired and eccentric looking man emerged from the rear of the shop.<p>

"Ahh, I wondered when I would be seeing you, Mister Potter."

Harry became confused. "Pardon my asking sir, but how do you know my name?"

Ollivander let a small smile creep onto his face. "Your countenance is well known to us, Mr. Potter. Especially your scar. Oh, dear me, you'll be needing a wand. Yes, yes, but which one?"

The elderly man drifted to the side of the aisle from whence he came and Harry saw hundreds, perhaps thousands, of small rectangular boxes therin.

"Ah!" Ollivander exclaimed, "Here's one. Ebony and unicorn hair. Sturdy, and good for charms."

Harry held the proffered wand loosely. "Well go on boy, give it a wave!"

Harry did, and nothing happened. Remembering how the wizard's magic had felt on Privet Drive, Harry completely dropped his barrier. Instantly he could feel a power in the wand, but it did not intermesh with his own magic. Harry shook his head. "I don't think this is the one, Mr. Ollivander."

"No, no, I daresay it isn't. Well, how about Yew and dragon heartstring?"

Harry tried this one as well, still no reaction.

"Oho, tricky customer eh? Well perhaps…"

Harry tried tens of wands, perhaps a hundred or more, and none of them combined with his power like he felt in the other wizard. Harry was pulled from his ruminations by the whisper of: "I wonder…"

Mr. Ollivander had a queer expression on his face, a mixture of realization, excitation, and was that fear?

"One moment, Mr. Potter…"

The old man drifted to the back of the shop and pulled a single box from a stack of what looked like hundreds. Ollivander cradled it in his hands as he approached Harry, then opened it. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple, good for healing and great for charms."

Harry took hold of the wand, and the world exploded into a new spectrum. Through his wand, Harry's sixth sense could feel the definite edges of spells where they had been hazy before, he could feel the magic of the entire alley, he could even feel Ollivander's emotions colouring his inner magic as the wandmaker gazed expectantly upon the instrument. Slowly, deliberately, Harry raised his wand, flooding it with power. A great surge ran through the shop, and loose boxes and chairs began to float upwards; meanwhile a brightness and clarity emanated from the wand, painting everything in an odd, though not unpleasant, light.

Harry lowered the wand and cut the power. All of the loose items returned to the ground.

The old wand maker gaped at the wand. Regaining a grasp of the lower jaw he whispered, "Curious. Most curious."

Harry couldn't help but ask: "Sorry, but what's curious?"

Ollivander looked at Harry, with a solemn air. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every one. It just so happens that the phoenix that donated to that wand gave another feather. Just one other. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother _gave you that scar_."

Harry glanced at the wand in his hand. "And who, may I ask, owned that wand?"

The now reticent man sucked in a breath. "We do not generally speak his name. Lord Voldemort was an extremely powerful dark wizard. I am curious to see what you do with that wand Mr. Potter. For though he was a terror to behold, the Dark Lord did great things with his wand. Terrible, yes. But great."

Slightly disturbed, Harry paid for his wand and left the shop.


	3. The Quiet Before the First Shell Hits

_AN: As to last chapter, I saw a few issues with content that may need clearing up. First up: there will be no sex in this fic! Maybe in the later years, like the fifth or sixth, but definitely NOT before fourth year, at least not with Harry and Co. There might be teasing, there might be flirting, but no straight-out gratuitous descriptions of full-on funtime! If the situation arises where two in-fic adults need to get it on, I will change the rating and put in warnings._

_Point the second, on magic: Yes, Harry is a metamorphmagus; no, he is not casting an illusion or transfiguration. And yes, Harry can do wordless/wandless magic. But only basic stuff, not "end-all-of-humanity" things. Harry can do things that are practical and rather obvious. Confusion, limited illusions, telekinesis, some other unsaid stuff… And newest to Harry, travel in the Grey and apparition. Yes, these tire him out; particularly the phasing aspect of the Grey. He is powerful, but not even close to Dumbledore's level. Yet._

_Thirdly: Harry is intelligent. Scary intelligent; he possesses a raw computing power that almost rivals savants. Not to say he _knows_ everything, he just learns astonishingly quickly. Hermione would be very comfortable around him. He is also very observant, and will use his "Sixth Sense" whenever it seems advantageous._

_Bonus cookies to whoever can guess the different series I have alluded to so far! ONWARD!_

_Note as of May, 10: I've made updates to chapters two and three; I felt that Harry had acted a little too smartly, in both senses of the word, and so changed them to reflect that. Also, the children's book that Harry found, I felt it a bit harsh and so gave it some proper well-meaning gravitas. Nothing major, just a few context-setting things._

* * *

><p>Harry dropped his trunk next to the bed he had rented at The Leaky Cauldron; the pub was behind the brick wall opposite the alley from Gringott's. Sighing heavily, Harry opened said trunk to review his purchases. The children's book caught his eye once more.<p>

He drew it out and opened to the first pages; describing how his parents had fallen in love at school, how they had lived together happily for a few years before a wondrous gift was bestowed upon them: baby Harry.

It painted a picture of a happy family, until the Dark Lord Voldemort came to destroy them. Because Harry's parents had died to protect him, the child had managed to reflect the dark powers that The Dark Lord had attempted to use to end Harry's life and destroy him instead. Afterwards Harry was placed with a loving family by Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School, in order to care for the boy until he could attend and rejoin the Magical world.

Harry closed the book with an odd tightness in his chest. He sat for a few minutes, wondering if he could ask this Albus Dumbledore what his parents had been like: after all, they had entrusted him to oversee Harry's welfare, they ought to have known the man at least a little.

As Harry mulled over that he felt an odd void in the magical fabric around him, even through his shield. Leaning outside, he zeroed in on a rather dingy-looking fellow darting through the crowd with a box under his arm. He was the source. Deciding to follow at a distance, Harry leapt from the window. A short (read: four-meter) drop later and Harry was on the man's tail. The mark obviously did not want to be noticed: he sidestepped and avoided all contact with those around him.

Eventually, Harry and his quarry found themselves at the entrance to the darkened side-alley that Harry had noticed earlier. The mark immediately dove into the less-than-hygienic-looking throng. Grimacing, Harry pulled his hood up, checked that his disguise was in place, and followed.

Where Diagon Alley felt light and airy, if a bit crowded, this place was dark and muffled. Hags stood on the side of the cobblestones proffering trays of fingernails; while attractive witches beckoned from the doorway of a… funhouse, let's say. In every window that wasn't obscured by curtains or boards, there were darkly enchanting artifacts and objects: here a decanter of what looked like blood, there a jewelry case with dark emeralds gleaming in the half-light. Overall, there was a sense of something not quite right; almost like the feeling that you were being watched. And hunted.

The mark turned suddenly and entered a shop called "Borgain and Burkes." Having come this far Harry entered as well, pulling down his hood. The store had many items on display, ranging from cabinets to jewelry, from books to… preserved human hands mounted on a display pillow?

Harry repressed a shudder; he hoped that the hand would stay right where it was. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary on the surface, Harry diluted his barrier a little. Instantly, Harry noticed a rather sizeable collection of magical items immediately below and behind the counter. The same counter where the mark had exchanged the box for a handful of gold coins. Harry watched as the cashier mounted the box on a waiting cushion and opened it to reveal a beautiful opal necklace. The black-haired boy barely registered that the "void" he had felt left with the deliverer, that jewel was so pretty...

"D'ya need something?"

The call rattled Harry out of his daze. "Ah, yes. I was having a look around. Your shop is quite interesting."

The shop owner sneered. "It is, is it? Have a look 'round. Don't touch that necklace neither, it's cursed."

Examining the rather elegant thing, Harry _did_ feel an immense well of power in the jewel that he had missed before. He swallowed dryly. "Thanks for the tip."

The man sneered again and walked away. Deciding to play it safe, Harry went to the stack of books and began skimming the titles. All of them were fairly old. Very few of them seemed interesting. Two, however, caught his eye.

One, _Le Compendium des Ingrédients et des Catalyseurs_, stood out as the title was the only French one he could see. Opening it, Harry found an encyclopedia of components for potions work; it included illustrations and such information as where they were to be found, how to preserve them, most common uses, etc. Of course, it was all in French, but such a useful tool was well worth the effort to dredge up Harry's old lessons.

The second was entitled _The Magic of the Mind-Arts_. Harry had no idea what "mind arts" were, but it was the only one there, and so Harry nabbed it. Bringing his items to the counter, giving the necklace a wide berth, Harry asked: "How much?"

The clerk licked his lips and said, "Fifty galleons for the lot, and not a knut less."

Harry almost winced at the price, but decided that discretion would win this battle. Harry fished out the coins and let his hand quaver, spilling the gold all over the countertop. The man scowled as he scooped the coins into a till, and his glare met the back of Harry's head as he beat a hasty retreat from the shop.

* * *

><p>Having managed to extricate himself from the apparently unwashed masses of the dark alley, Harry made his way back to the room as quickly as possible. Offering a greeting to the confused barman, Harry took the stairs two at a time. Once he was safely ensconced in his room Harry stowed the new books in the trunk. Chest. Whatever.<p>

Only then did he relax: anyone with half a brain would have deduced that the side alley dealt in less-than-legal items. Harry was still half afraid someone had seen and followed him. His heart nearly stopped at the knock on the door.

"Mr. Ambrose?" Came the muffled call, "Are you feeling well? You seemed rather flustered when you walked in, is all."

Harry gulped air, relieved. It was just Tom, the barman.

"Yes, Tom, I'm quite alright. Thanks for your concern."

"Happy to help." There was a pause, and then the light thuds of feet headed downstairs could be heard.

Harry reclined on the mattress, relishing the fact that he had found all of his equipment unaided with only intel gathered in the field. Now all he had to do was wait for the Dursleys to get back and…

Harry's eyes flew open. _The Dursleys!_

* * *

><p>After a hastily-cobbled story of how his mother had left him to do the shopping and was not going to pick him up until nine, the kindly barman showed Harry how to summon the wizarding transport system. The Knight Bus.<p>

"Just stick out your wand hand, yea that's it. Now hold onto your hat!"

With an ear-ringing "Bang!" a royal purple triple-decker bus materialized out of thin air and skittered to a halt not a meter away. Harry jumped back as the conductor tripped out and offered his hand.

"Wotcher, I'm Stan Shunpike. That there drivin's Ernie. Where you off to then?"

Harry couldn't stop a grin at the bespotted man's manner. "I'm headed to Wisteria Walk, that's in Surrey."

They shook. "Well, lemme git your bags, then, an' we'll be off!"

Harry threw Tom a last word over his shoulder as he entered behind Stan: "Thanks for the help Tom!"

The kindly barman waved as the afternoon blurred past the windows, and then the bus was gone.

* * *

><p>Harry had just ensconced the chest deep within his closet when he heard the characteristic squeal of his uncle's mini pulling into the drive. Harry dashed downstairs, and skittered to a halt in the entryway. Vernon opened the door.<p>

"Afternoon, nephew. How're things in the neighborhood?" Vernon's hat found itself hung, and his coat likewise placed, on the stand to the right.

"Nothing to report, sir. All's quiet."

Vernon nodded and stepped through to the sitting room, the paper folded under his arm. As he settled into his favorite armchair he unfolded to the stock reports. "So when's dinner going to be on then?" Could be heard from behind the paper.

"Should be not more than an hour, sir." Came the reply. "Shall I start the potatoes then?"

An affirmative grunt could be discerned.

Without another word, Harry turned on his heel and filed into the kitchen. A good thing he had a few _talents_ in the kitchen…

* * *

><p>The Dursley family, plus one, sat down to their evening meal with great appreciation for the scents wafting from the serving dishes. There were thin-cut salmon filets, pan-seared spiced and buttered potatoes, a brilliantly green salad with tomatoes and olives, all of the required sauces andor dressings, and _le pièce de résistance_: Harry's signature and special occasion pork roast. The meat practically glistened with moisture, and the Dursleys knew from experience that even few fish could rival the ease with which it could be cut and chewed, or its leanness. The implanted bulbs of crushed garlic and seasonings meant that every bite was a unique experience for each diner. Truly, Harry had taken no stops this night.

The Dursleys dug in with gusto after saying a quick "Happy Birthday" to Harry. As they ate, Harry began to subtly shift the auras of his family.

Harry had discovered upon his return from the alley that muggles, surprisingly, had tiny sparks of magic within themselves. Not nearly so much as a wizard, but magic was there. He shifted his focus between the Dursleys, switching every time one of them took a bite of the roast so that their feelings towards Harry would be much improved. At least, for the time being.

As Harry switched to Dudley, who had somehow abstained from the roast until it was the last on the plate, he received quite the shock. Dudley had _no magic at all_; none, zip, zero, zilch, and nada. His cousin felt as if he were simply not there, magically at any rate. In fact, it brought to mind the smuggler from the side-alley. A void in the magical fabric of the world. Harry supposed that the reason he had not felt his cousin's aberration was because he had been cooking the food with a bit of magic and so his focus had been elsewhere when Dudley had returned.

No matter, he could still influence the others.

Once Vernon and Petunia had eaten their last morsel, the bemoustached one said: "Ahh, that hit the spot. Well done boy, that's the best we've had yet."

The other two nodded in agreement, one was still eating. "So, anything to share on your birthday?"

Harry nodded, still keeping Vernon's mood as high as possible. "Actually, yes. I received an admission to a rather exclusive school that my father went to. Apparently, they've had my name down for quite a while.

Petunia suddenly blanched. Reflexively, Harry buoyed her mood as well. "There was a deposit already; my entire school tuition will be paid up until I become an adult."

"_No harm with jimmying the truth a little."_ Thought Harry as he felt both his aunt and uncle's stress drop substantially.

"So," said Vernon with a little smile on his face, "Have you decided to attend?"

Harry let a similar smile creep onto his own face. "Yes. I plan on attending, and as an added bonus they've offered me a tour of their facilities from a month in advance until term starts. They'll even pluck up the transport. On Monday I'll be gone."

Vernon's grin widened. "Bloody decent of them. Right then, you're going!"

"Thank you, sir. I had hoped you'd approve."

* * *

><p>Harry chuckled to himself the entire time he was packing. There would be a tour <em>for a full month<em>? Who in their right minds would have believed that?

To be entirely fair, though, the Dursleys weren't in their right minds when they had spoken. At a young age Harry had learned that if he focused properly he could alter a person's mood, and thus influence their actions. An opponent riding high on good cheer, say, might just decide to duck out from behind cover and charge a fortified position. Or start singing while waiting in ambush.

Monday arrived after a few days of monotonous mood-alteration and when the bells struck noon Harry gathered his things, summoned the Knight Bus, and departed to Diagon Alley.

Once on the rather grimy step of the Leaky Cauldron Harry hoisted his chest and walked through the crowd toward Tom the barman. With his Kurt disguise in place, Harry ordered another room and prepared to spend the rest of the summer learning more about wizards.

* * *

><p>Two weeks had passed and Harry was learning more than he had ever expected of wizards, even through casual observation. By sitting in the downstairs bar while reading he had counted no less than ten unique colloquialisms such as "By Merlin's beard" and "On Morgana's grave." He had also found that many went without the stereotypical wizard's hat in favor of bowlers or bare heads.<p>

As he leafed through the pages of his newly acquired _Laws and Customs of Wizarding Britain_, he overheard a name dropped nearby: Dumbledore. With an innocent movement Harry altered his angle and enhanced his hearing with magic.

"I'm shocked," said a faintly familiar voice, "that the Headmaster wouldn't have kept the Potter boy under a closer watch. Do you think that the boy is already in Hogwarts?"

A smaller shift whilst turning a page revealed that the conversationalists to Harry's left were a rather pale black haired man and the blond snoot from weeks earlier.

The pale one laughed and responded: "No, the boy is nowhere to be found. I even heard that when the giant oaf went to search at the boy's relative's house he threw the door straight off its hinges and scared them half to death. Thank you," he added to the waitress who had evidently returned with their tea.

The blonde took a sip of the drink placed in front of him with a nod. "Ah, yes. Earl Grey, excellent. But back to the topic at hand, where is the boy now? Surely the supreme warlock could locate a mere child, Severus."

Severus replied after indulging in a biscuit that had come with the tea. "Lucius, you are correct of course. The headmaster has attempted scrying, blood-tracing, even owls. The boy is shielded, wherever he is. But Dumbledore does know that the boy remains healthy, and that he is somewhere in London; blood tracing, at least, seems to be able to pin down an area. Not like those owls, they just come back after a few hours. He does know that the young Harry Potter will be coming to Hogwarts, though."

Lucius paused mid-sip. "How is it that blood tracing can't get through to the boy? That's a powerful art, surely the headmaster gleaned _something_ from it. And how does the doddering old fool know that Mister Potter is planning to attend?"

"The Headmaster had no explanation for his blood-trace to have been diverted other than it must have somehow been caught up in a magical vortex of some sort. He thinks a nexus might have temporarily shifted into London and interfered with the spell. Without more of the boy's blood he can't try again."

Lucius nodded. "And he knows that the boy will attend because two days ago one of his many scrying attempts managed to show Potter shopping in Flourish and Blott's. So far, he hasn't been able to gain another glimpse. He thinks that same nexus that disturbed the trace might well be interfering with his scrying."

Lucius placed the cup back onto its saucer, now empty. "Well, that is interesting, Severus, very interesting. Ah, but look: I must be off. The Minister and I have an appointment to keep. Please look after Draco this year, can't you?"

Severus nodded as he and Lucius stood. "I will. Goodbye, old friend."

The two left their table after standing and exchanging a small bow. Harry cursed inwardly; if he hadn't been so engrossed with his book he might have gleaned more of the two men's conversation. As is was, Harry had only determined that he was being searched for, and that both "scrying" and "blood-tracing" had been used. It seemed that his magical shield had blocked or at least diluted those attempts. He also briefly pondered what a "nexus" was.

Ah, balderdash. He'd need to visit Flourish and Blott's again to see if he could find books on the matter.

* * *

><p>"Ah, Mister Potter. What can I do for you today?"<p>

Griphook was sitting behind his new desk in his new office, looking rather pleased with himself. A stack of parchment was stacked neatly on either side of the goblin, a pair of bronze scales gleamed in the torchlight, and his uniform seemed newly made.

Harry sat down across from the stout creature and smiled. "I was wondering about two things, actually. I wish to visit my trust vault again; some new books have caught my eye."

Griphook nodded; he quickly scratched out a note on a piece of free parchment and gave it to Harry, to giive to the cart manager. "And the other matter?"

"I was wondering about the mists near your front door. What do they do?"

Griphook looked up in alarm. "You can see them?"

Harry began to shake his head, then thought better of it. "Very nearly, it's like a shimmer in the air. Both times I have entered, it's activated and I see it around other people leaving the bank. What does it do?"

Griphook looked as though he very much wished that Harry had not asked about the spell. He sighed. "The spell, Mister Potter, detects and reports any dangerous objects on a person entering the bank."

He looked the black-haired boy in the eye. "Many of our clients are very appreciative of the security and safety they enjoy within our walls. They do not necessarily need to know that the spell is there. It might make them feel... unsettled to know they are being monitored while here. Does that answer your question?"

Harry nodded. He had caught the goblin's unstated meaning. "It does. I was only curious. I don't think I should bother anyone with something they can't see; they might think I'm having them on for a laugh."

Griphook nodded, interlacing his fingers. "And we wouldn't want that, Mister Potter."

* * *

><p>Harry had failed to find any books having to do with scrying or blood-tracing in Flourish and Blott's. He had spent near upon half an hour perusing the indices of several books that claimed to have the wiidest variety of spells contained therin. After departing the shop Harry felt the jingling of coins in his pocket. A faint barking caused him to ruminate on what kind of pet to bring to school with him. Many of the students he had seen around the alley recently had one, and the letter had specified that he could bring one of three: an owl, a cat, or a toad. Spotting the Magical Menagerie, Harry entered.<p>

The interior was a din of hoots, barks, hisses, and chirps. Anything that flew, crawled, swam, ran, or slithered _and_ could fit in a pocket could be found here. Harry walked up to the witch at the counter.

"Excuse me, but what do you have in the way of pets?" He asked curiously.

"Oh, well dearie, we've crups and kneazels, owls, rats, toads, all of the standards really. Why don't you take a look around?"

Harry nodded, then began to investigate the various denizens of the shop. Dog-like animals with forked tails seemed to like him, as did animals that bore striking resemblances to Ms. Figg's cats back on Privet Drive. Harry saw rats that could disappear from nose to tail, save the tail, and toads that could belch purple fog. One in particular, a snowy white owl, watched him from her perch high behind the counter. She flew down to him and, startled, Harry extended his arm to allow her to land. Once the bird had inspected Harry closely, she began to nuzzle his cheek.

The animal keeper stared. "I don' believe it. That bird hated everyone before you. I'll sell her cheap if you get her out of here before she changes her mind."

Harry quickly sealed a price and walked out not two minutes later with his newest purchase.

* * *

><p>Hours later, Harry stumbled across a good name while perusing his magical history book.<p>

"Hey girl, how about Hedwig? Do you like that name?"

The owl gave an enthusiastic hoot, then fluttered from atop the closet to land beside his head and began to preen his hair.

"Haha, alright then. Hedwig it is."


	4. The First Shells Hit, and Lights Out

_AN: Yes, I know it's a day or two late. In the immortal words of Rajesh Kootherpali: "__Sorry."_

_I am having a spot of trouble identifying the transitional area between one passenger car and the next on a train. The bit that has the exposed joining mechanism in the old movies? If anyone knows what this is called, please tell me and I'll have it fixed in a jiffy; I'm calling it a "joint" by the way. I'm not looking for the technical term, though I would appreciate knowing, but rather the colloquial name for it. Please leave your response to this plea in the reviews, along with any helpful criticism._

_Alright then, on we go!_

_Edit: Added on what would have been chapter five. At two thousand words, it didn't seem like it warranted the button click._

_Edit the second: A very helpful fan came through with the name of that area of a train; Vestibule._

* * *

><p>Harry gazed upon the entrance to King's Cross Station with a healthy amount of incredulity. <em>This<em> was how wizards managed to travel to a magical school? There were muggles everywhere, it was crowded, but most importantly: it was in the middle of bloody London! With a resigned sigh as to the thought processes of wizards, Harry entered the throng.

Harry had discovered a ticket in his original envelope after overhearing a student in Diagon Alley complain that he had lost his. The ticket proclaimed that a "Hogwarts Express" would leave King's Cross Station at eleven o'clock from "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters." Patently ridiculous. Why wizards hadn't used the number thirteen escaped Harry as the King's Cross to which he was accustomed only possessed twelve platforms; even at that it only went from zero to eleven.

As Harry examined the mob of people he began to realise just how far up the creek he was. He hadn't the first idea as to how to access the platform.

"_Well, they _are_ wizards. Practically everything that they use is magic. So…"_

Harry extended his sixth sense while subtly grasping the wand hidden up his coat sleeve to enhance his clarity. He could then detect that a decent portion of the crowd in his immediate vicinity were magical. Feeling slightly exposed, Harry forced his hair to lengthen in order to hide his scar. Extending his probe further, Harry was able to sense a dense network of enchantments around a barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"_And Bob's my uncle! There."_ Harry allowed a satisfied look to creep over his face.

As he made his way closer to his target, he noticed a rather dense cluster of magicals coming up from behind. Pulling to the side, he let the large group of redheads pass. The mother of the family looked toward the crowd on her left and then began to shout, a little overzealously: "Come on, this place is packed with muggles of course. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters this way!"

The troupe of gingers plodded off towards the barrier, leaving Harry to wonder at the sheer _loudness_ of the matriarch of the brood. Following from a few yards behind, the boy watched as the older boys of the bunch pass right through the brick-and-mortar and disappear. He waited for the rest to leave, not wanting to interpose himself, and so found himself loitering for almost two minutes before the woman had had enough of examining the rest of the crowd in the station and followed her sons; this finally allowed Harry to pass through the wall himself.

On the other side of the brick-and-mortar façade was an almost cavernous station that looked to be devoted solely to one bright red steam engine, which bore its name boldly on its side: The Hogwarts Express. A sign above Harry's head proclaimed that he had arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. His sixth sense told him that the vast majority of those milling around the station were magical. Harry felt that his decision to disguise himself had been an entirely warranted practice of caution.

Wasting little more time sight-seeing Harry made his way toward the back of the train, hoping to find an empty compartment. After navigating the general hustle and bustle of bodies, he managed to get his chest and empty cage onto the steps and began to search. Not long after, Harry found an ideal compartment closer to the end of the train that appeared to have no residents. There had been others, but those had felt a little exposed since they were not adjacent to a vestibule. He entered quickly and stowed his luggage into the overhead. With that all out of the way Harry sat back on one of the benches to continue reading _A Theory of Magic_.

The train had just started on it's journey through the countryside and Harry had just finished chapter seven, which gave an overview on runes, when he heard a rather loud croak. Startled, Harry set down his book and looked around the compartment. The croak sounded again and Harry pinpointed the source as just behind the door. Sliding it to the side Harry discovered a rather large, and magically active, toad. Figuring a student had lost it Harry brought the toad inside and set it across from himself on the opposite bench. The toad croaked.

"Oh, hush. Your owner should be along any minute now."

The toad croaked again, but this time with an air of consent, and then fell asleep. Or at least Harry assumed it was asleep. And consenting.

He had just finished another page of the book when the door opened abruptly and one of the redheads from the station peered inside. As his jaw had gone a little slack, what he saw must have seemed odd: a lanky-haired boy reading in solitude save a rather still toad. Either that or he was just stupid, it was hard to tell. Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Can you be helped?"

The redhead looked around the compartment again and then asked, "Have you seen Harry Potter? He's supposed to be on the train this year. I'm Ron Weasley, by the way."

He held out a hand to shake. Harry did not take it: he had no desire to make friends with such a dollophead. Harry quickly spun off a simple spell to ensure the ginger would not remember him.

"I'm James; and no, I haven't seen Harry Potter. Have you tried near the front?"

Weasley looked thoughtful at this. "No, I haven't."

The boy left as quickly as he had come. Harry was only glad his scar had remained hidden, as anything as blatently identifying as that would have broken the spell, and tried once again to read his book. About fifteen minutes later there was a knock and a bushy haired girl entered with a slightly pudgy boy trailing behind. "Sorry to bother, but have you seen a toad? Neville here's lost one."

Harry set down his book and smiled. Proper manners went a long way in his book. He pulled the toad from under his bench, where it had retreated after a particularly bright patch of sun had come out.

"Yes; he found me near the start of the trip. I figured that his owner would be looking for him sooner or later." Harry handed the toad to the overjoyed Neville. "I'm Harry Potter, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Neville gaped, the toad slipping from his hands and once more advancing to the underside of the seats. The girl stared at him excitedly and exclaimed "Holy cricket! You aren't! I've read all about you, of course, in _The Most Magical Names of Our Time_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_…"

Harry held up a hand, stopping her. "Please, listen. Most of those books are probably rubbish. I've never been interviewed, and some of the stories about me I know are false. Ah! I know; why don't you two sit down and we can chat?"

The two looked at each other, and then raced for the seats across from Harry. Once safely in place the girl started: "I'm Hermione Granger, sorry for not saying before."

Harry laughed. "That's alright. You wouldn't believe the moron who came in before you. Barged in and asked if I had seen Harry Potter, like I was some sort of zoo exhibit, and then ran off when I said I hadn't."

Neville laughed along with Harry while Hermione frowned. "So you lied to him? That's not very nice."

Harry corrected her: "No I didn't, I've never seen myself. I've seen my reflection but I've never actually seen myself, nor've you I imagine."

Hermione flushed and said, "But still, that was dishonest…"

Harry laughed again. "So what if it was? He wanted to goggle at me like a baboon or something. I wasn't about to put up with that. You two were different."

Neville looked up after retrieving his toad again. "How so?"

"You two knocked first, then goggled."

Even Hermione laughed at that.

* * *

><p>The ride went pleasantly enough for the next hour or so; the countryside had begun to change from rolling hills to fields and there was a decent amount of overcast to mute the otherwise harsh sunlight. Harry's guests had retrieved their respective trunks from along the train and had returned to find that Harry had bought some sweets from a passing cart, which they happily tended to. Harry and Neville had excused themselves from the compartment while Hermione changed into her robes, as she did for them. Harry had been discussing all of the amazing sights around Diagon Alley with Hermione when there came a second polite knock from the compartment door.<p>

The door slid aside and in strode a blonde whom Harry readily recognized from his first day in the Alley. Neville flinched a bit as the boy walked in, which Harry noted. Through the compartment window two large boys could be seen waiting in the hall, their backs to the door.

"I've heard that Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is it true?" The boy gestured to Harry.

Harry stood and extended a hand saying: "Yes, that's me. I'm sorry though, you seem to have me at a disadvantage, Mr..?"

Draco shook the proffered hand. "Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Harry said, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Malfoy, though, Malfoy… Could your father be the Lucius Malfoy who is such good friends with our minister?"

Draco relaxed a bit and smiled. "Yes; father is always in and out of the ministry. He's quite good friends with many of the department heads."

Harry relaxed a bit too, so as not to put off the other boy. "So, what brings you to my compartment? I wouldn't think a person like you would come by just to stare at this scar."

Harry brushed his still-long hair to the side for a moment so that Draco might see the old wound.

Draco smirked a bit. "You're correct: that's not why I came. No, I merely came to extend my family's greetings to you and to welcome you back into the wizarding world."

Harry smiled. "You can give my thanks to your family, I'm glad to receive their welcome. Now I'm sure that you have friends back in your compartment waiting on you. I wouldn't want to keep you."

Draco took the invitation to leave. "Thank you. I expect that I'll see you around school, then?"

Harry nodded and Draco left. Harry sat back down and had begun to peruse his theory book again when Neville blurted "What was _that_?"

Harry looked up to find Neville red-faced with embarrassment at his outburst. Hermione looked fairly shocked as well; apparently Neville did not usually raise his voice. Harry cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

Neville glanced from Harry to the door and back, then said: "H-how is it that you're such good friends with Malfoy? Th-they're among the darkest wizards in Britain!"

Hermione looked puzzled. "If the family were well known for practicing the Dark Arts they wouldn't be able to go to Hogwarts, would they?"

Neville nodded, and said shakily: "_If _the whole family was well-known _and_ convicted of practicing Dark Arts then they wouldn't. B-but my gran says that the Malfoys are really good at slipping out of trouble. Something to do with how they spend their m-money, I bet."

Harry decided to switch topics, in order to avoid alienating his new friends. He would be investigating into the "Dark Arts" though: they were an unknown quantity, and thus needed to be studied.

"How do families come into their wealth anyway? I assume that magic has something to do with it."

Hermione's face showed interest as Neville answered. "M-magic has something to do with how the old families _keep_ their wealth, and sometimes h-how they get it, but to gain more you usually either have to own land or invest in b-business."

Neville seemed to become a little less shy as he spoke, sitting straighter and pointing to himself. "M-My family relies almost exclusively on rent from our various properties. Y-yours, Harry," at this Neville pointed to the other boy, "the Potters, they were known to have almost an even split between land lording and business dealings. The M-Malfoys are different though. They were a middling family about seventy or so years ago; they held a large bit of farm ground that the Weasley family worked. After the last w-war they sold off most of their lands and bought shops and stock all over wizarding Britain. That's why they became so wealthy so fast: they helped rebuild most of the shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmead."

Hermione pondered this and then asked "Are all of the families like that? It seems that some people would need to be laborers or something for that to work."

Neville nodded to her. "Y-yea, most of the families are just tradesmen. The Chang family arrived here about fifty years ago. They r-run the apothecary in Diagon. The Smith's have a woodworking trade, and I mentioned that the Weasleys were farmers."

Harry latched onto the last; here was a chance to find out why such a substantial amount of money went to the family of redheads. "You did say that, and you also mentioned that the land they farmed was sold. Did it go to them?"

Neville shook his head and gestured out of the window, towards a set fields coming within view. "The W-Weasleys couldn't have afforded all of that property. They managed to get a small piece, but most of it went to the Zabini family, and it's farmed by the Bullstrodes now. The Weasleys were even worse off after the sale. My gran said that they had to sell off most of their equipment and get jobs in the lower ministry just to get by."

Hermione latched onto that phrase. "Lower ministry? What's a lower ministry?"

Neville seemed a bit proud that he was such a knowledgeable source on the wider wizarding world. Harry felt that he deserved it: the information Neville gave out was gold! "The l-lower ministry is just the portion of our government that everyone says is unimportant. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, the Goblin Liaison, the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures; that sort of thing. Most of it is rather un-unimportant, but I wish that the Office of Land Preservation was given a little more weight; we can't just make more of it, and muggles notice if huge tracts of land go m-missing overnight."

The trio stayed with the subject of wizarding finances and economics, a fascinating topic, and before long the sky had darkened and the train began to slow down. With a whistle and a small jerk, the train came to a complete stop outside of a small station. A voice was heard throughout the train: "Please leave your belongings in the train, they will be taken up to the school for you."

"Welcome to Hogwarts."

* * *

><p>After exiting the train Harry and his new compatriots found themselves on a simple platform. A line of carriages lead away from a forest to their right. The three stepped in the general direction of a rather deep voice shouting: "Firs' years this way! Come on then! Firs' years over this way!"<p>

The milling students parted and Harry saw what was probably the most massive man in existence. He wore a massive furry overcoat, possessed an enormous beard, and was somehow still able to make his smile known through the fuzz. "Firs' years over this way, firs' years!"

A small path behind the giant man led away from the train and the older students. A glimmer of water could be seen at it's end. Harry, Neville, and Hermione joined the mass of students clustering around the large man. He smiled down at the students. ""Allo! Me name's Hagrid, an I'm to lead you all to the castle. Follow me, then!"

Hagrid turned and took long strides down the road leading to what could now be seen as a lake. The vast majority of first years had to jog to keep up. Upon rounding a bend in the trail, Harry's group stopped and Hermione gasped. A large lake sat on the edge of the dark wood. A full moon shone overhead and made the waters appear as the finest silver; small islands near the far left shores were the only imperfections in the illusion. But to the right, to the right was a magnificent castle.

Tall capped towers stood guard over a magnificent white cliff overlooking the lake, and nestled between these sentinels was a glorious castle with high walls and towers of its own. Airborne corridors and bridges linked the outlying towers with the castle proper and motes of light could be seen glimmering from windows all along the wall.

Harry had stopped not because of the sight of the school; he had seen many pictures of such fortresses before. No, as soon as he had crossed some invisible boundary he had felt a massive amount of magic envelop him. The field spanned from where Harry stood to the school, and easily beyond that! With his wand in his sleeve Harry could detect layers upon layers upon layers of enchantments and spells folded into the titanic bubble, as convoluted and complex as anything he could imagine. Strands, fields, spheres, ribbons and all assortments of other spell types intermeshed to create this most intimidating of wards.

Harry quickly reasserted his barrier, as strong as he could muster, and the overwhelming feeling of pressure abated. He strode forward, snapping Hermione out of her daze as he did so.

"C'mon. The others are heading to those boats."

And indeed, there was a rather long pier with dinghies along either side. The trio fell into line with the rest of the students and were sorted into a boat alongside a pretty blonde girl. In a rather wide skiff at the end of the pier sat Hagrid, encouraging the soon-to-be students to hurry.

"Alrigh' then? Evryone on board?" There was a general murmur of assent, and no students remained on the pier.

"Righ' then! Off we go; forward!" At his command, and the brandishing of a ridiculous pink umbrella, the small fleet set off for the cliff below the castle. Harry looked around, marveling at the spectacle around his fellow students. Elegant ripples emanated from their crafts, causing the light on the surface to dance and shimmer.

As the students were about to pass a small island Harry noticed a simple stone bridge connecting it to the mainland. He thought nothing of it; that is, until his boat passed under it. A ripple of energy ran through Harry, and suddenly his sixth sense was gone! He would have panicked had he not been surrounded by other students and not been trained to handle stress. The recently-hobbled boy surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder and saw a figure garbed in black, waving his wand over the few boats behind Harry's own, presumably casting whatever enchantments he was supposed to cast.

Harry was no fool, the odds that a random saboteur would be hiding on the exact bridge they had passed under would be virtually nil; there had been several bridges they had bypassed. Whoever the man was, he was _supposed_ to be there doing whatever it was he was doing. That he blanketed all of the students supported the theory; it might have been some kind of standard entry protocol, or some form of tracker. Regardless, Harry was going to fid a way to circumvent whatever had been placed on him. That was a project for later though: while he was in his ruminations the students had arrived at a small dock which led up into the white cliff itself.

"Alrigh' then." said Hagrid, "We're here. Now, you lot need ter sick tergether an' follow me. C'mon" The large man trundled off to a wide ascending staircase recessed into the back wall of the shallow cave. There were few mutterings among the students: the dark and shadowy stairs were intimidating enough to ensure that. After three right turns and a short corridor the group passed through a large door and into a brightly lit entrance hall.

The hall was magnificently lit by hanging wrought iron chandeliers, and in the center lay a grand stairway leading up to a wide set of double doors; presumably to some sort of feasting hall if Harry remembered his histories. A massive set of double doors stood at either end of the hall: one at the head of the stairway and another that looked as if it led to the foregrounds . Hagrid turned to the students, chuckling as he saw their awestruck expressions.

"Now," he began, "you lot need ter wait here for one of te professers. They'll lead you inside, sure 'nuff." Hagrid smiled and, with a little wave, ascended the steps to enter the hall beyond. As Harry watched the man leave he couldn't help but wonder what other surprises Hogwarts had in store for him. It was only his arrival, yet he had met a gentle giant, made acquaintances with two noble houses, become fast friends with a smart girl, and had his magic restricted somehow.

_"What's next,"_ Harry asked himself,_ "proof of the afterlife?"_

And as he thought, so the universe decided to kick in metaphorical pants. Out of the walls near the great door flowed a host of ethereal beings, glimmering and wavering in the candlelight. One happened to look down as the group passed overhead. The priest smiled.

"Oh look here everyone, little first years. Hello!" The man gave a jaunty little wave.

"Ah," said a noble figure, "I wondered when we'd see them about. Hello, and welcome to Hogwarts. Cheerio chaps!" At the aristocrat's proclamation the spectral figures faded through the ceiling. Harry, and several others, stared at the roof. Harry's mouth opened, seemingly of its own accord.

"What in the nine levels of hell was that?" A few of the surrounding children sniggered, but before an answer could be given a rather severe looking woman approached the milling students and began to speak in a distinct Scottish brogue.

"Good evening, and welcome to Hogwarts. I am professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor house, and Deputy Headmistress." Harry noted that the woman happened to be a bit odd-eyed. Nothing major just that, from certain viewpoints, her eyes would appear to be situated in obtuse angles. His internal computations of those angles being translated into standard vision were interrupted by an elbow to the ribs courtesy of Hermione.

"Now in a moment, you will go through these doors and join your classmates; but before you do you must be sorted into your Houses. While at Hogwarts, your house is like your family. Your accomplishments will earn you points, any rule breaking and you will lose points. At the end of the year the House with the most points will win the House Cup; a great honor."

Harry nodded slightly at this last: he _loved_ competition.

"Follow me, and we'll begin."

* * *

><p>Harry began to spin slowly alongside Neville and Hermione in the Great Hall as soon as the students had been bidden to hold their position. Even though he had read <em>Hogwarts: A History<em>, never did it cross Harry's mind that the ceiling was _actually_ able to show the stars overhead. Simply amazing.

There were five tables, one of which seemed to be the staff table; the rest seemed to be for students of the various houses. Several doors led off the hall, and Harry briefly wondered as to where they led.

McGonagall called the hall's attention, having returned with a stool and some sort of old cloth.

"When I call your name, please step forward and place the Sorting Hat on your head to be sorted into your houses." Harry heard a muffled squawk from the rear of the group.

"What, we have to just try on the hat? My brothers said we had to wrestle a troll!"

Harry chuckled as he heard the Weasley's exclamation. Hermione looked at him curiously. "What's so funny?"

Harry turned to her and whispered: "Weasley thought we had to wrestle trolls. I've seen pictures of trolls, we wouldn't stand a chance. Git probably doesn't have the slightest clue about what goes on."

Hermione laughed softly, and Harry could've sworn he heard a small snort from Neville on his other side. The group turned forward as the old hat, as it was now identified, formed a tear along it's side and began to sing in a festive Irish tune.

_A thousand years or more ago_

_When I was newly sewn_

_There came at last_

_A return of the past_

_Through four Heroes _

_Great and bold_

_Young Gryffindor; by strength and speed_

_His every foe was ended_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, with herb and poultice,_

_Were the sick and dying mended_

_Fair Ravenclaw, with naught but quill and paper,_

_Did translate long-lost tomes; an excellent wordshaper_

_Noble Slytherin, the cunning and the cautious,_

_There was no spell he could not cast; The nastiest? Those nauseous._

_These four did come together_

_To build this noble school_

_And being the people that they were_

_Favorites were taken from the pool_

_Said Slytherin: "Only those cunning and ambitious_

_will be taught by me."_

_And Ravenclaw: "Only those of truest mind shall learn _

_at all from me."_

_Said Gryffindor: "I shall take those with brave deeds to their name."_

_Sweet Hufflepuff: "I shall teach the lot and treat them just the same."_

_So the Houses were divided_

_And I shall treat you so_

_It is my work to sort you_

_But do not fill with woe_

_Your friends shall be your friends_

_And your rivals those not_

_Regardless of where you sit;_

_No matter the colours of sock_

_So step up, sit down,_

_And place me on your bin_

_For time grows short, the hour long;_

_Let the sorting now begin!_

Applause bust out along the five tables as the sorting hat ended it's song. Harry applauded along with the rest: it had been rather amusing. He watched as Susan Bones was called forward. She sat on the stool and McGonagall placed the hat on her head. After a few moments of silence the hat cried: "Hufflepuff!"

Susan stepped lightly over to her new house as they applauded and took a seat. Harry had phased out a bit after the first, vaguely being aware that some "Finnegan" was sorted into Gryffindor, preoccupied as he was with the geometry of McGonagall's eyes. He snapped back to attention ,though, as Hermione was called. She sat on the stool with the hat on her head for a full minute before the piece of apparel opened up and shouted: "Ravenclaw!"

A blushing Hermione half-jogged over to her housemates who were clapping enthusiastically. Harry lost two, or more, names before being dragged out of his ruminations by Neville Longbottom being sorted into Gryffindor. A few names later, or many: Harry wasn't sure, came Draco Malfoy. The hat had cried "Slytherin!" almost as soon as it had touched the boy's head, and thus keept said blonde's hair preternaturally smooth.

The next name that caught his attention was, not surprisingly, his own. Harry collected his thoughts and strode forward. He couldn't help but notice that the entire hall had fallen silent before whispers of his name began to circulate throughout the room. Harry paid them no mind and continued on what seemed like much too long of a walk from the group to that bloody stool. Eventually Harry managed to traverse the distance, sit on the three-legged elevation enhancer, and watch his world go dark as the hat was dropped over his head. Then a voice caught his attention; a deep, reverberating voice which seemed to echo in his skull.

"_Difficult, very difficult…" _Harry tried answering.

"_What's difficult?" _Harry heard what could only be described as the sound of amusement.

"_It is difficult to sort you, Mister Potter, because you are a difficult person to categorise. So willing to use your powers for your own ends, yet you have never shown cowardice or left a friend behind, and your eagerness to learn is quite remarkable..._

Harry began to panic.

"_Mister Potter, calm yourself. I cannot speak of that which I see in student's minds. But where to put you… You have courage, no doubt about that; you are loyal and a hard worker; intelligence is one of your greatest assets, and yet your cunning and ambition are great. Where to place you…"_

Harry was unsure himself. _"Can you tell me what I might become?"_

"_There was only one other,"_ the hat replied, _"That asked me this question. He did not end well."_

Harry quashed his nervousness. _"Tell me."_

"_Very well. It's all here; in your head. In Slytherin you would become a force to reckon with: a colossal figure in power and influence; your reach would know no bounds. A lonely road, but filled with affluence and privilege. In Gryffindor you would be adored, worshipped even, as a hero for defeating the Dark Lord. Everyone would praise your deeds and look to you as a bastion of light; becoming Minister of Magic would be as easy as you asking for it. After living among Ravenclaws, no secret of magic could hide from you. Any notion you had would be within your grasp to understand; you might even rediscover the lost recipe for the Philosopher's Stone."_

"_And what will Hufflepuff grant me?" _The hat chuckled, or close to it.

"_Hufflepuff will give you loyal friends, for life. You will have to work hard in order to gain their trust; but once you have it, they will follow you into the deepest darkness with faith and loyalty. No other shall be able to command the respect others will hold for you, and you alone. Hufflepuff will be the hardest path, for they do not make allegiances lightly. You will be respected there, not for what you have done, but for what you will do. But you already know your choice, and so I do mine."_

* * *

><p>The entire hall watched as the hat spoke to Harry Potter for what seemed an eternity. Just as Professor McGonagall was about to say something to the headmaster, the hat opened. It seemed to do so in slow motion, every shift and contortion of the cloth became easily visible. Then, it spoke.<p>

"Hufflepuff!"

The world suddenly came back in full color and sound as Professor McGonagall pulled the Sorting Hat off of Harry's head. For a moment, there was silence; Harry noted that most of the students, and a fair few teachers, had their mouths hanging open in surprise. Then a deafening wave of applause and cheers arose from the black-and-gold table where Harry's new housemates sat. Several were beckoning him to join the group and every last one was grinning from ear to ear. Harry smiled back and took a seat near other first years after having shaken hands with a few of the older students.

After the remaining few students were sorted one of the faculty stood at the head table. Harry immediately noted that the older man in question sat at the center of the table in a large winged armchair. As the white-haired wizard raised his hands for silence Harry realized: _"This must be Albus Dumbledore._"

Harry listened along with his new classmates as Dumbledore began to speak. "To all of our new students, I would like to say: welcome. To all of those returning to us: welcome back. There is a time for speech giving, but this is not it. Now is the time for feasting! Tuck in!"

With a clap from the aged wizard the many platters, bowls, and tureens arrayed along the tables filled with all manner of food and drink. There were pies and chickens, pork and pudding, greens and breads. Gravy boats took after their names as they sailed up and down the oaken tables, navigating treacherous paths between mountains of mash and cliff sides composed of various sweet rolls; pitchers were found all along the rows of students offering water and other drinks, some of which Harry found to be downright unpleasant. He shivered as a memory of drinking an orange liquid found in his family's refrigerator surfaced. The day he drank pumpkin juice again would be the day he required it to survive.

Harry began to dig in like his classmates; in the military you learn to eat fast and eat smart. Harry took helpings of the beef and pheasant alongside a mound of mash and a few servings of greens. He knew that without eating properly he could very well lose focus: many a training exercise had been cut short because someone ate too much grease and had it come back with a vengeance. Harry found that, like the Leaky Cauldron, merely sitting and keeping one's ears open provided veritable oodles of information.

A few seats down at the Gryffindor table Harry heard a boy as saying: "Yea, I'm half'n half; me dads a muggle, mum's a witch. Bit of a nasty shock when he found out."

A few of the boys around him laughed.

Harry looked around when he heard a fellow Hufflepuff first-year ask "Who's that talking to the Professor in the turban? He's scary lookin'."

"That's Professor Snape, he's the potions headmaster and Head of Slytherin House. Just keep your head down and be polite in his class, he's not too bad. Bit of a temper though." This last came from a boy who seemed to be a few years older than Harry himself. Harry glanced over to the staff table, noticing that the black-haired man from the Cauldron was the "Professor Snape" in question. More interesting though was the strange sensation that he received whenever he caught sight of the man in the turban. Harry experimented: looking at everything and anything else and then flicking his eyes back over to the cloth. A dull twinge ran through his scar every single time.

Filing away that particular bit of information Harry continued eating, stopping once his stomach gave a slight protest to the volume taken in. He made idle conversation with a year-mate while waiting for whatever was to happen next. He ended up having to wait a while. After learning entirely too much about Bruce's views on how "wicked" everything in the castle was the food began to disappear. Harry caught sight of the ginger from the train piling food into his arms in a bid to continue eating. Slightly nauseated by the sight, Harry turned towards the Headmaster.

Dumbledore had risen from his armchair yet again, this time with a faint twinkle in his eye. _That_ was somehow more unsettling than the Weasley's food obsession. Sweeping his arms outward, the Headmaster began to speak. "Ah; now that we are all fed and watered, I have a few announcements for you."

The aged man's right hand fell to the tabletop, beside his now cleared plate. His left folded itself politely behind the small of his back. "First years, and a few of our older students, should note that the forest on the grounds is a very dangerous place. Therefore, any exploration is expressly forbidden."

Harry noted that the two identical gingers sitting at the Gryffindor table gave each other knowing looks, then stifled their laughter. Dumbledore gave a small smile at the two's antics. I have also been asked by the caretaker, Mr. Filch, to remind you that no magic is to be performed between classes in the corridors; and that a list of all banned items is available for pickup from his office."

The twins' silent laughter doubled in intensity.

"Quidditch trials will be held next week. Anyone who is interested in joining their house team please contact your House Team Captain. Captains, contact Madam Hooch to request time on the pitch."

The twins gave each other a high-five while excited mutterings ran along all four tables. Dumbledore nodded and said "Yes, yes. It should be an exciting year for quidditch, as always. But,"

And here his voice grew grave, both hands supporting his weight as he leant over the head table slightly. "I must tell you that this year the third floor corridor on the western side is out of bounds; unless you wish to die a very painful death."

The hushed babble about quidditch died almost immediately to be replaced by a brief silence, then whispers and sideways looks of shock and disbelief. Harry could hardly believe it either. Exactly what reason could there be for having some sort of highly deadly object tucked away in some corner of a _school_? And why in Hel's name would one tell the students that the thing was in the school at all, let alone exactly where it was located?

Something smelled fishy: there was more going on at Hogwarts this year than met the eye. After a few moments of discussion among his charges Dumbledore straightened and smiled. "So long as you mind these announcements and the school's rules, I think we'll have a splendid year. Toodle-oo!"

With that oddly upbeat closing remark Dumbledore clapped, and a ball of fire materialized above his head. Amongst the shouts of many students the inferno resolved into a bird of scarlet and gold plumage. The avian alighted on the old warlock's shoulder, then both man and bird disappeared in yet another conflagration to more exclamations of alarm. Professor McGonagall stood and barked instructions. "Settle down! Now, the feast has ended. First years, please follow your prefects to your House Dormitories. Your belongings have already been brought up. Tomorrow at breakfast, we will pass out the schedules for your lessons. Dismissed!"

Along the four tables several students had risen and started calling out "First years, this way."

"This way you lot!"

"Over here, follow me."

Students moved away from their benches and, following the older students, began filing out of the Great Hall. Weasley still seemed determined to devour the ham he had tucked into the elbow of his sleeve; amusingly, it gave the impression that he was eating his own arm as he left. Harry even thought he heard the word 'zombie' come from a nearby Gryffindor who was looking in the same direction.

Harry rose as well and followed closely behind the older student he had noticed earlier, the one who gave a fellow fist year advice on Professor Snape. The boy, along with a few other prefects, led the first years through a series of wide corridors on the ground floor and down only one staircase. Harry watched in wonder as several paintings moved within their frames, some even passing through them to visit their neighbors.

The gaggle of new Hufflepuffs seemed to have taken a wrong turn as their prefects led them to a dead end, little more than a nook at the end of a small side passageway off the main corridor. The only real features in the passage were a stacking of enormous barrels, in which Harry was sure that he and four of his year mates could fit if they clustered together, and a large circular window which showed a piece of the grounds immediately outside the castle.

"Hey," exclaimed a freckled boy in the back, "are you having us on? There's nothing here!"

The older students laughed. One of the prefects looked at the boy and smiled. "Watch and learn."

The prefect approached the barrels. He made deliberate identifying motions as he located the barrel in the middle of the second row. The boy thumped out a pattern on it's lid: two beats, a slight pause, then three beats. The lid dropped open, revealing a passage inside. The prefects crouched through and then beckoned the first years to follow. Once they had, they found themselves in a room unlike any that Harry had seen before.

The room itself was circular, and the walls were adorned with shades of soft yellow and black. Several armchairs and sofas were situated near a fire, which was crackling merrily. A few tables were arrayed further from the fire underneath mounted lanterns. Several windows occupied the middle of the fireside wall. Though it was dark now, Harry had no doubt that the entire room would be lit wonderfully by the rising sun. Every other place one looked, a shelf on the wall, a side table, even along the sills of the windows, were plants. Two circular doors were embedded in the walls on either side of the fire. They, along with the entrance, evenly divided the room into three parts.

The prefect who had opened the door to the common room waited until most of the first years had stopped admiring their new surroundings before speaking.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff! This is the common room, here you'll complete your homework, spend time with friends. Essentially, this is the sitting room of your house. If you've noticed the plants all around, well, our Head of House _is_ the Herbology Professor. Professor Sprout usually changes them out a few times a year. The entrance to the girls' dormitory is to the left of the fire; boys, the right. Lowest years are in the back. If you have any questions, please wait until tomorrow! We're all a bit sleepy, and a cranky Hufflepuff is a _mean_ Hufflepuff!"

The prefect laughed good-naturedly. "I'm Gabriel Truman. Find me or one of the other prefects tomorrow and we'll see if we can't help you out a bit. All right, off to bed!"

A burble of chatter swept through the new students as they swept through the doors. On the other side was a hallway lined with more circular doors on one side and more windows on the other. Harry and the other first-year boys shuffled down the hallway towards their own room. Once through, they discovered seven more doors leading to four-poster beds covered by quilts of black and yellow. Their trunks were at the foot of each bed; of what owls had been brought, only the cages were atop said trunks.

Harry bade his roommates good night, entered his room, stripped to his boxer shorts, then clambered under the sheets on his new bed, and fell asleep.


	5. Lessons and a Plot

_AN: Sorry for the late notation. I wanted to get this out as soon as it had passed spellcheck. As unbelievable as it may seem, I do still write. School and other matters are just taking much more time now. Also to be placed in the unbelievable pile: I do read your reviews and to a few of you kind folk who left some, here are some answers. Hopefully._

_I do make spelling errors, I admit it. I, however, take some care not to make too many plot inconsistancies. Harry was able to fend off other magics because he could 'see' them coming. When he entered the castle grounds for the first time he was, in essence, blinded by the sheer number and strength of spells. He never knew the caster was even there. Note that I will alter the previous instances to make a bit more sense, but the circumstances and results are about where I want them. As for the monetary situation: if an eleven-year old boy were to suddenly try to sieze control of his finances from his guardian, wouldn't people in the government think the child was being manipulated or whatnot? I believe so. The less Harry changes things, the less knowlege Dumbles has as to what is really going on. Trust me: his ignorances of Harry's circumstances and actual behaviour will contribute to a very important event much later on._

_With that out of the way, enjoy. And I hope you all like the lectures I made up; one-hundred percent original, they are. Well, mostly original: I did lift a line or two from one of the films._

* * *

><p>Harry rose before dawn the next morning, a habit that he had picked up in the Academy, and made himself ready for whatever awaited him. The showers were easy enough to find, though they did require one to exit their own room and spend time covered in nothing but a towel to traverse the short hallway. An uncomfortably breezy skip, hop, and a jump later saw Harry shrouded in steam and the sound of falling water.<p>

After admiring the simple elegance of the fine porcelain while showering, Harry brushed his teeth and checked a mirror to make sure his hair wasn't too long. An unforeseen complication to his disguising himself the previous day was that he had to maintain a constant hair length or risk exposure of his ability; and his hair liked to grow while he slept unless he left it in its natural state.

Following an even _more_ uncomfortably brisk trot back to his room Harry dressed and placed all of his textbooks and one of his potion kits into a bag he had bought from Horst while rooming in The Cauldron. The craftsman had shown Harry a fine canvas bag that was guaranteed to keep ink from spilling, jars from breaking, and to never weigh more than a half-stone so long as the thing's catch was closed. Horst had then taken some delight in relieving Harry of an almost painful amount of his money in exchange.

So laden, Harry made his way out of the small maze of tunnel-like halls that made up the sleeping quarters and into the common room where some of the older students were lounging, having risen while Harry had been showering. A few of them waved as Harry passed through the entrance and into the halls.

He could remember how to get back to the main hall easily enough, but Harry worried as to how to find his classrooms. He had no map, nor did any of the doors he passed possess a number or other identifying marks.

Harry sighed. _"Yet another bloody hassle."_

Breakfast this early, it wasn't even seven o'clock yet, consisted of toast, bacon, eggs, and some sort of hash. It was difficult to place exactly what the meat was: to Harry it could have been beef or… Well, he wasn't sure what else it could be, but he also couldn't be absolutely certain that the stuff _was_ beef.

After two helpings of the mystery hash, alongside several strips of bacon and many eggs, Harry noticed that the hall was slowly increasing in population. It seemed the students realised that their lessons began at eight and so they needed time to eat. Harry also noticed that the Weasley kid was not present amongst the, admittedly sparse, Gryffindor population. Harry snorted. The dumb ginger would probably come careening through the doors with twenty minutes to spare and trip all over himself.

Nearly thirty minutes later, when several professors began handing out sheaves of parchment to the waiting students, Harry's prediction came true: a flash of ginger, a yelp, and an impressive midair semi-cartwheel later, the youngest Weasley in attendance had planted his face firmly into a pile of eggs that had materialised in response to the boy's own entry to the hall. The only warning had been a rapid thudding of feet as the boy approached and an echoing shout of "Food!"

Ignoring both the, admittedly mild, swearing of the boy and the raucous laughter of the rest of the hall, Harry turned to await the arrival of his copy of the parchment that was being passed out by a short witch whom he assumed was Professor Sprout. As she handed Harry his copy, of what turned out to be his class schedule, he asked: "Professor? Excuse me, but how am I to go about finding the right rooms? I don't read any sort of numbering system on our schedules."

Professor Sprout chuckled, she possessed a very kindly laugh: not unlike that of a matronly grandmother. "Well Mister Potter, generally we have the House Ghost lead students to their lessons. They really are quite handy."

At that moment, a _head_ popped out of the remains of Harry's breakfast and very nearly gave him a reason to shriek like a little girl. As it was, Harry merely emanated a noise that sounded to be a cross between a wheeze and a yelp. The tonsure-sporting apparition laughed jovially. "Hullo then! Didn't mean to frighten you that badly, though I will not lie and say I didn't enjoy it."

As the monk spoke he stepped up and through the table to stand, or rather hover, beside Professor Sprout who was stifling her snorts of laughter. Harry was still sitting on the long bench that served as the students' seats, though only just. In his momentary terror, Harry had attempted to place as much distance between his plate and his body. Once he had had time to verify that his heart was still beating and his trousers were no more moist than when he sat down, Harry managed to stammer out: "N-nice t-to meet you again, monk."

The spectral shade of a man appeared delighted. "O-ho! So you remember me from yesterday?"

"Yes, sir; I think it'd be a bit hard to forget one of the first ghosts I've met."

Professor Sprout looked from one to the other, clearly pleased at the whole arrangement. "Well, now that you've that sorted, I'll leave you to the Friar. Hurry now, only twenty minutes to lessons!"

As Harry's Head of House made to leave, he noticed that all of the other professors were dispersing as well; no doubt to gain a few precious minutes to prepare for the fist lesson of term. Harry manoeuvred himself back to his previous sitting arrangement and continued his breakfast, though more slowly now that he had a conversation companion. "So, how about we start again? I'm Friar Tuckman, though most just call me the Fat Friar."

"I'm Harry Potter, it's nice to meet you properly."

The friar smiled. "A bit less fun than bursting out of someone's food, but I suppose manners count for something. Do you have any questions?"

Harry gulped down a mouthful of water. "Yes, actually. So every House has a ghost, then?"

"Indeed they do. I'm for Hufflepuff, the Grey Lady helps the younger Ravenclaws, Sir Nicholas belongs to Gryffindor, and the Bloody Baron represents Slytherin. We all get along well enough, though I do wish that the Baron and Sir Nicholas would cease their gambling on Quidditch." As he spoke the translucent apparition turned his gaze towards two figures hovering near the ceiling, apparently arguing. Both wore swords, but one looked to be of a bit higher nobility than the other; the second wore chains and what looked like silver bloodstains.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "What exactly do they wager?"

The friar shook his head. "Oh, embarrassment mostly. They stage a fight, they can't hurt each other with blades or even make _contact_, where one triumphs over the other and the loser espouses his admiration for the victor. They usually only perform for the seventh year students, but occasionally they get a little _too_ invested in their fight and it breaks out into the halls…"

Harry chewed a bit of the mystery hash. "Seems a bit silly if you ask me."

The friar nodded. "I think so too. Oh, but look at the sun! We need to be off if you're all to attend your first lesson! First year Hufflepuffs, follow me! Leave your breakfast boy, it's only a few hours 'till your lunch!"

**)()()()()()()(**

The friar led the group of first years towards their first lesson that day: Charms. As they walked and he floated the jolly man pointed out what he called "Landmarks," explaining that these were some of the few things in the halls that didn't get up and about at night or change location on a Tuesday versus a Friday. Harry wasn't sure whether the quasi-man was joking or not, but decided to play it safe and memorize the different portraits, windows and tapestries that the kindly spectre identified.

"Undoubtedly," Friar Tuckman elaborated whilst leading the students down a particularly long corridor, "Many of the older students will advise you to take other routes because they would be faster than this, and rightly so. But those change all the time, or can only be accessed on a Wednesday, so this path is much more reliable. Besides,"

And here the friar floated backwards to give the group a grin, "there'll be plenty of time to explore once you can manage to get to class on your own. Speaking of which…"

The students and their guide turned right at a corner and found themselves in a brightly lit corridor, the still-rising sun only just visible on the far side of one of the windows. Across from said portals lay an open door. "This is it! Enjoy your lesson, I'll be back after all's done to take you to Potions. Oh, and for the majority of your studies, you'll be joined by the Ravenclaw students. Play nicely!"

With a wave and a laugh, the ghost departed through a nearby wall.

A few of the students laughed, then the mass began to file inside. Apparently the professor left their door unlocked so the students would need not wait on them to find seats. Harry entered after Bruce, who had been espousing how "awesome" things were along the halls and was doing so again, and found himself agreeing with the chatty boy. The charms classroom was quite, well, _awesome_.

The Hufflepuffs entered the classroom at its lowest point: next to a large semicircular platform. Three rows curved gently around the platform, each row further from the centre being a level higher than the one preceding it. Each row was equipped with long desks and benches that were curved to fit the row; several gaps were visible which divided what would otherwise be continuous desktops and seats into room for about three students per section. Harry assumed correctly, as he discovered when he moved to seat himself next to Hermione, that these gaps were miniature staircases that enabled one to step from one row to another easily.

Hermione gave Harry and odd look as he sat on her left. Harry quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

She opened her mouth, paused, then continued reservedly: "I, I thought you would want to sit with the other Hufflepuffs in the second row."

Harry turned and looked about: it indeed seemed that the first row was reserved for the 'Claws while his own house had seated themselves in the slightly higher row to his rear, and even into the third row as a few 'Claws had occupied the central spaces on the second row as well. No one other than Harry seemed to be sitting at Hermione's bench though. "I think I'd rather sit here. I happen to like the company."

Hermione blushed a bit, though Harry was at a loss as to why. Before he could ask Hermione about the colour in her cheeks the classroom door opened. A diminutive man with wispy white hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same colour stepped to the centre of the platform. With a wave of his wand, which Harry had not seen retrieved from a pocket, a decorative desk materialised in front and a large blackboard appeared on the wall behind him. The man sat himself behind the desk, produced a sheet of parchment, and marked attendance.

Once that had been done, and the parchment had been vanished to who-knew-where, the man finally spoke in a slightly high and quavery voice for such an obviously aged person. "Good morning everyone! I hope your first night wasn't too bad?"

General murmurs of agreement rose from the students. "Oh, no need to be shy, no need. I'm Professor Flitwick and I enjoy hearing about some of the day-to-day happenings. In my classroom, so long as the lesson hasn't started, you can talk about anything at all and it won't bother me so long as you don't make too much of a ruckus."

Professor Flitwick was surprisingly animated for having attained an advanced age in such a tiny frame: gesticulating often and widely while walking about the platform. "Now, this classroom is dedicated to charms work; a most interesting field of study! You'll be in this room until your fifth years at which point we shall move to a larger one, one floor above. We'll need the space, I assure you. But for now we will stay with the basics. First: what are charms and what is charming? Hmm? Anyone?"

As he spoke the chalkboard at his back reproduced the question in white marks which drew the attention of many students, Harry included. He was aware of Hermione's hand shooting into the air beside him, even through his wondering how the chalk used had come and gone so quickly. "Yes, Ms.-?"

"Granger, sir." Hermione said hastily. "Charms add effects or properties to their subjects, usually temporarily. Charming is both the placing and layering of those effects so that they don't interfere with each other."

Flitwick smiled widely. "As well spoken as I have ever heard on a first day, ten points to Ravenclaw Ms. Granger."

Flitwick continued as Hermione blushed with pride. "Yes, simply put: charms add effects to objects." As he lectured the blackboard took notes in a very neat script. Harry and Hermione both copied it down as did several students around them.

"But they are more than that. Charms allow us to alter the very _nature_ of an object. For example: the flame-freezing charm, which you will learn about in your History of Magic lessons, causes fire to not burn anything living. The levitation charm can make a boulder light as a feather. Moreover, while a charm is indeed temporary, the effect is constant; a very important distinction. One cannot charm an object to levitate only when someone walks past it, nor can one make a lake turn to ice only on Sunday afternoons: it is all or nothing. If you were to charm a stone to be hot, it would be so until the effect wore off or someone cancelled the charm."

Small illustrations appeared beside a few of the notes on the board now, but Harry did not endeavour to copy the images; though he could hear Hermione and a few of the more studious Ravenclaws doing so.

"Now: on to what you can actually use in this class, eh? The proper practice of a charm is not to coax an object to behave, but to shock it into doing so. Apply a burst of magic; that is why most of the wand movements for charms have sharp jabbing or flicking motions. The spell today most definitely has these: the levitation charm."

At Flitwick's last words the board cleared itself and produced the title: "Levitation." Illustrations seemed to paint themselves over the surface showing stones held in midair and the wizards manipulating them from below. "With this charm you can alter the height at which an object rests, change the apparent density of the object, and in which direction it will tend to travel. The movement for this charm is rather reminiscent of a capital letter 'G.' I assume you all are familiar with your alphabets?"

He said this bit with a fair bit of curiosity in his voice but his twinkling eyes, crinkled smile, and waggling eyebrows gave it away as a joke. Several students laughed and said "Yes, professor."

"Oh, good. I was wondering whether I'd need to teach you that as well."

As his joke was being delivered a rather finely detailed image of a hand holding a wand was being inscribed on the board. An arrow emerged from the tip of the wand and moved counter-clockwise in a semicircle, then dropped straight down and bobbed back up again; the pattern did rather look like a letter 'G.'

"Now, let's practice shall we? We start with our wands outstretched, then curve downward to our lefts…" As the little man moved his wand, the figure on the board moved as well.

And so began Harry's first lesson in charms.

An hour and some few minutes later Harry emerged from the charms classroom with a rather sore wrist. Flicking wands might _sound_ easy to do but it was rather strenuous in practice. Harry could not think of anything he'd do in his entire life that would require as much finagling with the wrist, aside from fencing perhaps. The auburn-haired girl beside him was showing some signs of discomfort, but they were easily overlooked when one was confronted with her exuberance about her not-even-three-minutes-past conversation with their diminutive instructor.

"-and it's so _amazing_ that something so simple as mis-waving your wand during an incantation can cause such absolutely _bizarre_ accidents. I mean _really_? A goldfish the size of a _cow_? It seems absolute-" At that moment Harry was convinced that Hermione would chat his ear off about the sheer weirdness of magic itself.

"_I mean, honestly,"_ thought Harry, _"I was a bit surprised too when he said that if I messed up I could be crushed by a giant fish; but I just tried to memorize the pattern more thoroughly, not conduct a thirty-minute inquiry as to why it couldn't be a trout instead!"_

Just as Harry was about to ask Hermione where she thought the food last night had come from just to change the subject, after all he had heard the explanation of the large golden fishy by sitting next to her, the friar popped out of a painting to the now-milling and gossiping students' collective rights. "Hi-ho there! How was your first one?"

Harry grimaced as he answered. "Sore wrist, thanks for asking."

The Friar tutted. "Ah-ah-ah, you shouldn't get discouraged. It'll get better with practice."

A passing group of upper-year Hufflepuffs' faces contorted as they tried to hold in laughter, then let it burst out in a cacophony of merriment. The friar was not pleased. "Oh, so you think it's funny that a first-year's arm is sore from waving his wand around?"

The upper years' laugher doubled; a few began leaning on one another for support as they made their way down the hall. The friar scoffed. "I don't know what's so funny," he shouted after them, "I happen to remember the same thing happening to all of you the first time too!"

There was no escape this time: the older boys collapsed in mirth and began giggling and guffawing uncontrollably. The friar's eyes rolled as he muttered: "Bloody teenagers; alright then!"

At this he clapped his hands, perplexing Harry and probably some of the 'Claws. How had he managed _that_? "It's time to get you lot off to Potions, and then lunch. Ravenclaws, the Lady will be by after lunch to lead you to your first flying lesson."

The students with blue ties nodded, and the entire assemblage marched off down the same path the Hufflepuffs had earlier that morning.

One of the Ravens looked around after a few corners and commented, "We didn't come this way earlier. Why's that?"

The Friar chuckled. "I was wondering when one of you would ask. This is the most reliable way back to the Great Hall, and from there you can go anywhere else in the castle. Other paths will change occasionally, or play tricks on you. Better to know where you are than where you want to be, eh?"

There was frantic murmuring amongst the bearers of the eagle crest as they gravitated towards each other and began discussing the new information. Harry drifted closer to Hermione. "It's bit strange, isn't it? The corridors changing, I mean."

The auburn-haired girl nodded. "Yes, I noticed it this morning on the way to breakfast; some of the suits of armour were missing from their alcoves. Do you think they patrol the school at night?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. It's an interesting idea though. No one expects to be ambushed by decorations."

As their conversation continued, proposing various reasons for having the paintings able to travel from frame to frame for example, the Friar led the group of blue and gold embossed students back through the Entry Hall. He had one of the students open a door which led to a long and shallow staircase which led down into the dungeons. The Friar picked up his commentary again. "You needn't worry about that door or the dungeon corridors; they never change."

At the word 'dungeon,' many of the students looked about uneasily. "Oh, no! Don't worry," assured the Friar, "no one has been kept prisoner here for nearly one thousand years. We use these chambers for the more, well, potentially _caustic_ arts because they are made of the thickest and strongest stone in the castle. You needn't fear opening a door and finding something ghastly. Morbid, maybe, but never anything too distressing."

The majority of the students, Hermione included, looked as though they were most definitely _not_ reassured in the slightest. Hermione flinched and walked closer to Harry as one of the torches on the walls sputtered and popped. The students took few turns here, apparently the dungeons were not nearly so expansive as the floors above, and soon arrived at a nondescript door set in an otherwise continuous wall. The Friar looked about and then addressed the milling students; "Well, best wait for Professor Snape inside. Go on, in you go. The Grey Lady will be here afterwards to take you all to lunch."

One of the Hufflepuffs creaked open the door and the students filed inside after the ghost had left. Many jumped at the unexpected noise from the hinges. The classroom itself was a large, rectangular thing; possessing no windows and only table-borne candles and wall mounted torches lit the musty room. Eight stone tables stood in two rows from the front of the classroom: rough and pitted as though they had been marred by acids and stained in blotches with unknown compounds. As they found their seats, Harry detected a sickly sweet odour in the air which set his hair on end; though most ominous of all of the faintly unsettling happenings was that Bruce had not said a word since entering the dungeons.

Not five minutes after the students had arranged themselves along the worktables the door at the rear of the class flew open with the muffled '**thump' **of wood striking stone. Professor Snape strode up through the centre of the tables toward a large desk and chalkboard at the head of the room; though with how little he seemed to move up and down in his stride one could almost swear he _glid_ across the stone. Once he was standing before the board the Professor's eyes swept the room, lingering on each person as he seemed to map out the arrangement of students. "I am pleased to see that none of you have decided to skive off or sleep through this class, as did some earlier this morning."

He spoke with a low voice, pronouncing each word clearly and precisely. None needed to strain to catch the professor's words as any small conversations that had been taking place had ceased the instant he had entered the room. Unlike when Harry had seen him in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Snape now seemed to emanate an aura which suggested in very clear, yet nonverbal terms: 'Do not try my patience.'

Harry was reminded strongly of several of the sergeants and even the few officers that had been his instructors at the academy. He sat ramrod straight as the professor resumed speaking. "There shall be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in these lessons. I do not expect that many of you will immediately appreciate the simple silence and subtle art that is potion making. Too many never do; but over the years that I have had charge of this subject I have noticed that the vast majority of those belonging to houses Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, eventually, come to enjoy their time here for no other reason than the material itself."

Several of the Ravenclaws glanced around the room; looking for what, Harry had no idea. His own housemates were fixated solely on the professor and his next words. "To be accomplished potions makers, one must possess both an intellect and a work ethic. You will find that some formulae require you to perform several complicated steps with no time to review the next few in line. Some will require several days or weeks to mature fully, and require care all the while."

Professor Snape turned to his right to face the blackboard and used his wand to place a title on the board: _The Hedge Remedy for Fatigue and General Unwellness._ As instructions began to fill themselves out underneath the title the professor continued his speech, which Harry now realised was the introduction of a lecture.

"Doubtless, many of you have seen this remedy before. It is commonly sold as _Pepperup Potion_," a sneer appeared as he uttered the name, sarcasm evident, "and can be found in nearly any wizarding home. It is a simple potion, and is used to relieve the symptoms of fatigue, nausea, and other such minor ailments. It can cure minor nuisances such as a cold or a minor case of tainted food poisoning; though anything more serious than that would require more _comprehensive_ remedies."

Harry, as well as the rest of the classroom, was utterly enthralled. This basic concoction was being made to appear as if it were the most interesting thing one would ever learn. Several students were dutifully scratching down notes as the professor spoke.

"Instructions as to how to prepare the potion are both on the board and in your books beginning on page seven. The ingredients all come from the sets you bought over the summer. Any questions or concerns will be signalled by a raised hand. Once the potion is finished, a sample is to be bottled and brought to me for evaluation. At the end of the lesson, any who wish to attempt extra credit can consume the potion they created and describe an effect which I did not cover in the overview. You may begin when ready."

A few moments passed before the students realised that they had been given leave to attempt the potion. Harry dug out his cauldron, his flame set, and two books: his potions text and the compendium of ingredients he had acquired in the side alley off of Diagon Alley. Before he could even set up the bowl that would contain his cauldron's flame, a hand reached out and picked up the compendium. "Mister Potter," came the voice from beside him, "what is this?"

Harry looked to his left to see his professor perusing the contents of the book. "It's a book that I bought in Diagon Alley. I thought it might help in my lessons."

The professor nodded. "And it will later on, when we seek to brew more advanced potions. Tell me: do you read French?"

This time it was Harry's turn to nod. "Yes sir; I learned how to read it in school, before Hogwarts."

The professor shut the book, looking thoughtful. "A useful skill to have, understanding another language. See to it you do not lose that book."

He offered the book to Harry, who placed it in his bag and then began his preparations for the brewing.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape sat at his desk observing the students in his classroom attempt to create a potion for the first time, for the most part. He was fairly certain that a few of the Ravenclaws had brewed before this lesson, as those he had in mind were well further along than their year mates. Perhaps they had aided a parent or been supervised by one before the term started. Severus tried to keep an even eye over the students: it was rare, but known to happen, that dangerous mistakes could be made during this brew. His eyes always seemed to drift back to the Potter boy in the front row, though. He was diligently pouring over the text while his water came to a simmering boil; occasionally looking up to compare the text to the instructions on the board.<p>

The book that the boy had though, that was what really occupied Severus' mind; the book and what it might imply. It was part of a trio of books, _Les Compendiums des Ingrédients et des Catalyseurs,_ which covered most, if not all, known ingredients and their various details on procurement, care, and use. The set was coveted by potions masters because it had been printed a little under two hundred years ago and never reprinted, which was a waste in the eyes of the professor. What _really_ caused the clockwork in his head to whirl was how _restricted_ that book was. It contained several items which many considered 'Dark, ' and had thus been banned for sale in most wizarding countries involved in the International Confederation of Wizards. He had recently seen a copy in Borgin and Burkes and had been planning on buying it after withdrawing from Gringott's; but a scant few hours later it had been sold. Severus had been lamenting his misfortune in silence ever since.

And yet, how odd it was that Potter arrived in his classroom with the same volume that he had been admiring weeks ago. How unlikely that his had the same water stain on its interior front cover as the one in the shop. The evidence left two conclusions in his mind. One: someone had bought the book and given it to the boy as a sort of 'coming back' gift; which was discarded the moment the boy had said he bought it.

Which left the second conclusion: that Harry Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord and saviour of the Light, had willingly entered Knockturn Ally and bought an item from a Dark Shop. Now, the interesting question was _why?_ What reason could a boy that young have for exploring such an obviously shady place as that, unless…

No; it was too early to predict the boy's leanings. It might have been, unlikely as it was, a fluke or vagarity of fate and have no real bearing on the boy's own nature. A common accidental wandering. _"And yet"_…

* * *

><p>Harry decided that he had rather enjoyed his potions lesson. The students were quiet, the instructions were clear, and the instructor allowed the students to make small mistakes rather than hover over everyone and rob them the opportunity of experience. The strict atmosphere may have been to Harry's liking, but even he would admit that the most entertaining part of the class had been when a Ravenclaw had taken his sample of potion and had steam come out of his ears. The professor had assured the students that the effect was normal, but none had dared try it after Bruce had the steam come out of his nose next.<p>

The talkative lad _still_ had a death grip on his nose and was complaining about "The horrible minty-ness of it all."

True to the Friar's word a female ghost had been waiting for the children in the dungeon corridor. She was silent; mute in a manner that bespoke sadness and strength at the same time. The Grey Lady led the hungry students back to the Great Hall, where they dined on chicken and salads.

Harry particularly enjoyed watching Bruce have a small fit as someone offered him a mint pastry.

**(_)(_)(_)(_)**

"I am Professor Hooch. Welcome to your first flying lesson."

The Hufflepuff students had been escorted outside of the castle onto the grounds by a ghost who identified himself as "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington" alongside the Gryffindors. Many of the red-clad ones had been muttering excitedly about their upcoming lesson and who would be able to fly highest. Harry had noticed that much of the conversation that went on in Gryffindor seemed to be started by one of two people: the redheaded boy that had savagely dive-bombed a plate of eggs earlier that morning, and a girl whom Harry labelled 'Brown' in his mind; he had a vague memory of the girl being sorted just the other day.

He also noticed that his friend Neville had seemed to be trailing behind the pride, merely nodding with whatever had been said. Harry had made his way to the back of the throng to provide some company, and an excuse as to desert the conversation on what they seemed to call "Chudley Cannons."

"Hey, Neville. How's your first day been?"

Neville broke out a shaky laugh. "Oh, not bad really. Some mishaps in potions this morning but I'd say a good start overall."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had suspected that the Gryffindor and the Slytherin students had had potions together before his own group. "Do share. Professor Snape mentioned that someone missed the class."

Neville snorted back a laugh. "No; Ron only nearly did. The redhead," he clarified as Harry took a puzzled look toward the mob of lions, "he rushed into class two minutes late with a bit of bacon stuck to his cheek, as though he had fallen asleep on his plate! Snape gave him detention tonight for it."

Harry looked over at Weasley; he fancied that e saw a spot of the offending pork product still attached near the boy's earlobe. "Is that all?"

Neville shook his head as they passed through a large covered walkway, pillars flashing by behind him. "No, when he asked for the extra credit Ron got up and downed twice the normal dose."

Harry gaped at Neville, then asked eagerly: "Well, what happened?"

Neville began to reply, stopped due to a snort, then continued, "He-he had peppermint steam coming out his trousers, and he began running 'round the room yelling about the stinging in his rump!"

Harry began laughing, he couldn't help it. The mere image of the gangly redhead being propelled around a room by minty flatulence was simply too much. Nothing of note happened during their flying lesson, save that there were several well-hid snickers every time that Ron winced as he mounted his broom.

Harry spent the rest of the day after flight training reading out of his transfiguration book. He wanted to be well prepared for the next day.

* * *

><p>Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes, inadvertently taking in the rather shiny contents of the circular office she found herself in as she did so. She had spent the last few hours trying to convince the headmaster to her way of thinking before any damage could ensue.<p>

"Albus, please! It's not safe where it is, we need to move it before anyone sticks their nose in the wrong room." She harrumphed and crossed her arms to try and drive her point home. "There is no point to having all of these protections if they aren't being used, except maybe to get someone killed."

Albus Dumbledore nodded from behind his ornate oaken desk. A gorgeous thing it was: one continuous piece of wood, carved and given as a gift to his grandfather for banishing a blight on a forest town. It was the perfect height to steeple of one's fingers as one tried to convince a rather stubborn woman that a rather dangerous object needed to remain in the open without revealing the true reason why; or perhaps it was the chair that was the perfect height? "I agree, Minerva: it should be moved as soon as possible. But, unfortunately, it can't be done right now. Not without significant risk to whoever tries to do so."

Minerva seemed unconvinced. "Oh? An' why so?"

Albus winced internally. A bit of her Scot was coming to bear. "The ritual to entrap the object within the mirror has left it rather unstable. As soon as it can be done, I promise that I will move it myself."

She tutted a bit, but conceded. "Fine. Just spin off some sort of charm to prevent any students from finding it, alright?"

Dumbledore made a noise of assent as the woman rose. As she opened the door he called out: "Be sure to keep me up on Harry's first lesson with you tomorrow. It'll be educational for him, I'm sure."

She nodded as she closed the door to the winding staircase beyond. Dumbledore sighed. Now that she was gone, he could investigate more pressing matters. Like exactly which piece of his furniture was perfect, or if they might both be half-perfect, or perhaps…


	6. Contacts, Conversation, and Clues

_AN: Yes, I am still writing for this story. It just takes a while to get good material out, and I've found that the time between interesting points in the plot are very hard to fill in. Virtual (and nonexistant) cookies to those of you who understand where I'm coming from. And before you pervs get out of hand, that little pictogram scene break after quidditch is first mentioned is meant to be a flying bludger. Nothing else. Bonus cookies to those that like my other story as well. Onward!_

* * *

><p>It had been nearly two months since term had started and Harry had decided that, while he immensely enjoyed learning about magic, he dearly wished that a few of his subjects were a bit more interesting. A perfect example was History of Magic: while the topic of goblin wars and rebellions were fairly interesting material, once Harry had noticed that they had covered the Battle of Kleptroth's Keep three times, the lectures became very tedious very rapidly. He harboured a similar complaint about his herbology lessons.<p>

_Two months previous_

On the first Wednesday morning after term had started, the first year Hufflepuffs had found themselves trotting across the grounds in the company of their Slytherin counterparts. It was the first lesson that they had shared with the green-clad children and so had been the first time Harry had had the opportunity to speak to Draco Malfoy since their encounter on the train. He separated from his own housemates and fell into line beside the blonde and his two companions.

"Hello, Draco. How's your term been so far?"

Draco grimaced. "It seems that several of our lessons have us sharing space with those obnoxious Gryffindors. I tell you: they're a pain in the arse, the lot of them!"

Harry laughed. "Well I can see you not liking Weasley, dolt's as loud as they come, but surely there're some who aren't too bad."

"If there are, we haven't noticed. Ugh," he groaned, "I'm probably going to get killed in potions if Longbottom keeps sitting so close to us."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. He had assumed that since Neville had been wizard-raised he would be at least competent. "Neville's bad at potions?"

One of the girls nearby, a blonde one, snorted with suppressed laughter. She turned from her gaggle of girls and said, "Of course! The lummox melted his cauldron in our second lesson while we were brewing a strengthening solution!"

The blonde and her cohort burst into giggles and turned back towards the doors to the greenhouse, waiting for their professor to call them in. Draco chuckled a bit as well. "I'll admit it: it was highly entertaining to watch while Longbottom's robes dissolved and he started panicking before he realised he was wearing trousers underneath."

The two rather large boys behind Harry grunted with amusement, then started pantomime what was obviously supposed to be Neville in terror. Draco watched them gambol about for a moment before saying: "Oh, I haven't introduced you. These are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. We're old friends."

Harry and the two large boys nodded to each other briefly before Crabbe and Goyle resumed their little skit. "You don't make fun of Neville like this all the time, do you?"

Draco turned to look at Harry. "Not really, just when he's around or when someone mentions potions. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "He's a friend."

The doors to the greenhouse opened and the students began to file inside. Draco harrumphed, then: "Oh, all right. We'll stop; it was starting to become rather boring anyway."

"Thanks." Harry and Draco sat at a table about in the middle of the room, just ahead of Crabbe and Goyle. Once Harry was inside, he noticed that the greenhouse was sectioned off. The area in which the students sat was relatively bare: only a few racks of gardening tools lined the walls and any plants were small and in pots off to the side. Harry could also see that there was a door opposite the entrance, presumably that was where all of the important plants were kept.

"Alright everyone, let's all put away our bags so we may begin!" Professor Sprout was a short woman, only a few inches taller than Harry was himself, but had a kind and jovial face. Her voice was bubbly and Harry hoped that that would mean a pleasant start to what was essentially a gardening lesson.

"Now ," the stout woman continued, "I'm Professor Sprout and this is Greenhouse One; where we will be spending the rest of term. So long as you follow all of the safety precautions I give you, you should be fine. Now, I want you to repeat each rule as I say it. Rule Number One: Do not eat any of the plants here, under any circumstances."

_And Back Again_

After the few initial lessons it became rather routine for them to be repotting different plants and taking notes as to what species thrived under what conditions. While obviously interesting to some, like Neville, the bescarred boy had quickly become bored. On the other hand, a few of his lessons had become more interesting as they had gone on; like his most recent transfiguration lesson. The students had advanced from changing a stone into a button to making a needle out of a match. Harry had found that he had a knack for the subject; the only people who seemed to pick up the lessons faster were Susan Bones and Hermione.

Harry looked up from his breakfast once he noticed that the general tone and colour of the many conversations in the Great Hall had changed from their usual. He turned toward a year mate of his. "Hey, Susan, what's everyone on about?"

Susan turned in her seat, away from the conversation she had been part of and gave Harry a quizzical look. "Don't you know what day it is?"

Harry shook his head: the only holiday he could remember to be this time of year was Guy Fawkes Day, and he was fairly certain that wizards wouldn't celebrate a muggle terrorist being caught. Even then he wasn't too certain he knew what date today was, exactly. Susan laughed. "It's All Hallows Eve, everyone here celebrates it."

Harry was confused. _"They celebrate a religious holiday?"_

He felt an elbow poke him gently in the ribs, so turned to see an older boy smiling. "It's based on the old traditions, you know; Samhain and all of that. I'm Cedric Diggory by the way."

Cedric held out his hand. Harry shook it. "Harry Potter. So, why's everyone so excited?"

"We get the day off, that's why. That and everyone's mum sends them sweets." His eyes widened. "Ooh, sorry…"

Harry waved him off. "S'alright. I don't remember, so I don't miss them."

The section of Hufflepuff around the two became very quiet. Harry decided to break the silence with: "Okay, we have the day off. What's there to do for fun?"

Cedric laughed. "Well, for you firsties, nothing. When you're in fourth year like us, you can go to Hogsmeade and shop around a bit. There are a few places to eat there too, so it provides some variety."

"So, we need permission to go to… Hogsmeade, was it?"

Cedric nodded. "Yea, your par-guardians sign a slip and you can go in third year, like I said. You could try Quidditch, though."

He looked at Harry as though evaluating his merit. A few seconds passed before Harry asked: "Sorry again, but what's Quidditch?"

===o

"Alright, so maybe you're not suited for the game."

"No, and I'll thank you to never speak of it again."

Harry and Cedric were exiting the hospital wing after having the younger boy's arm repaired.

"Now, come on, I've had bones mended by Pomfrey. It's not that bad." Harry glanced at the older boy bewilderedly as the duo made their way toward the Great Hall for lunch.

"She had me down a numbing potion, then she grabbed my arm, twisted the bones 'round, and then felt out the jagged edges through my _skin_ while I watched! I was sick! How is that _not_ bad?" Cedric shrugged.

"She didn't need to re-grow your pelvis overnight. I've seen it happen: not pretty." Harry's face became green for the third time that day at the thought, which was unfortunate as the scents of several different rich foods assailed the pair as they entered the hall.

"Well, go get something to eat. You'll feel better." Harry nodded as he headed towards his year mates.

Under his breath though: "Bloody wizards and their sports. Mad, the whole lot."

* * *

><p>Harry had spent most of the rest of his day reading <em>A History of Magic<em> with Hermione in a quiet courtyard. When Professor Binns wasn't slogging through the material with a monotonous voice, it was actually quite an interesting read. Most history books that Harry had read contained dry, factorial, looking-back writing; this, on the other hand, was a collection of the discoveries of the magical historian who wrote it: one Bathilda Bagshot. These discoveries included letters, maps, conjecture based on handed-down stories of old families… Needless to say, reading the translation of goblin battle-plans to hold Kleptroth's Keep beside the journal entries of opposing battle-mages was infinitely more interesting than just learning that a conflict had occurred.

Harry had often spent his time on weekends with either Hermione or Neville, or both, in the library or on the grounds, respectively. Neville would usually like to walk on the edges of the forest to admire mosses or other plants, and Hermione really just liked to read no matter the locale so long as it wasn't too bright. The day had been somewhat cloudy, though, and so he and Hermione had taken the opportunity to read outside in the dimmed light.

Just as Harry was going to ask whether or not Hermione had noticed that the Goblin word for 'king' read similar to the English word 'muck,' when a faint voice drifted in from the open arch between them. They each leaned out to investigate and the words became clearer.

"Yea, and transfiguration's so easy with those 'Claws about. Always muttering tips they are." An unknown dark-skinned boy was walking alongside a few other Gryffindors, Neville not among them, a scant two dozen feet away. The redheaded one, Ron Weasley, snorted.

"Yea, s'alright, except that Granger bird; always trying to tell me what to do," his voice became higher, "_'It's a jab, not a wave!'_ Honestly! What a nightmare!" The other boys laughed.

Harry turned to Hermione, but she was already rushing away, a soft sob reaching him as she entered the castle.

Harry sat at the Hufflepuff table while only half paying attention to what he was eating. The raven-headed boy had followed Hermione as best he could, but had lost her somewhere on the second floor. As he placed what might have been asparagus into his mouth he heard a voice say: "-so awful, she was crying in that loo in the west wing. I don't know what's gotten into her."

Harry whipped his head around to see Hannah Abbot in conversation with the other first year Hufflepuff girls. "Excuse me, but who was crying?"

Hannah turned. "Oh, sorry Harry. It was your friend, that Granger girl; she's gone and shut herself up in the girls bathroom on the second floor. Do you know what's made her so upset?"

All of the girls leaned in to hear the answer; Harry nodded glumly. "She and I were out on the grounds when a couple of Gryffindors walked by. They were talking badly about her."

Susan Bones turned in her seat to face the Gryffindor Table. "Which ones?"

"That lot down near the entrance, the one with that Weasley git." The group he had identified chose that moment to begin laughing uproariously, spilling several drinks as one of their own managed to detonate the contents of his cup. Megan Jones shook her head exasperatedly.

"Boys." The others nodded in agreement, though on what Harry had no idea. He cleared his throat before addressing the gaggle again.

"So, do you think that you could look in on-" A loud bang stopped all conversation in the hall; the students and faculty alike snapped their collective attention to the great double doors, where Professor Quirrel had stumbled through. He tottered in a few steps before whimpering out: "T-t-troll, i-in the d-du-dungeons. Thought you o-ought to know."

Then he fainted. A moment passed before students began to panic, the noise of hysterical children growing louder by the second before another loud BANG echoed through the hall and Professor Dumbledore shouted "Silence!"

All motion ceased.

Dumbledore rose; his face was as stone and he seemed all of seven feet tall. When he spoke again, his words were heard by all. "Prefects, return your houses to their dormitories. Staff, Head Boy and Girl, follow me to the dungeons."

His purple cloak billowed as he spun on his heel, the faculty following him out of a side door. Across the four tables prefects were calling out: "Quickly, now" and "Stay together" were common orders. In the entrance hall the throng of students broke into distinct streams as they made their way to their respective common rooms. Harry was passing by the Ravenclaws when his eyes widened. He quickly ducked out of the mass and sprinted towards an unused door. He was about to make his way to the staircase on the other end of the hallway when someone grabbed his arm. Harry turned, only to see Neville Longbottom holding his sleeve. "Wha-?"

Harry didn't get to finish his question. "Are you mad," asked Neville, "there's a troll out, what're you doing?"

Harry shook his sleeve from the other boy's grip. "Hermione's in the girls loo on the second floor, she doesn't know about the troll." Neville's eyes widened.

"Let's go!" Harry began running for the staircase, slightly relieved to hear Neville's steps just behind him. As they stepped onto the landing of the second floor Harry noticed an odd smell before freezing in place next to Neville; both boys dumbstruck as a massive rocklike backside of _something _in a loincloth that could only be the troll entered a room on the far end of the hall. Then they heard a crash, and a scream.

"Hermione!"

They both shouted as they resumed their sprint, arriving at the door just in time to see the grey behemoth raise a massive club and utterly pulverise another one of the stalls, Hermione's feet just visible crawling from one cubicle to the next.

"What do we do!" Neville shouted, worrying at his hair in dismay. Harry glanced around wildly then plucked up a piece of porcelain the troll had broken; he lobbed it as hard as he could, straight at the thing's head, only to see it connect with a dull clunk before falling to the floor and shattering. The troll froze.

In a bathroom that was half destroyed, water leaking out from under the remains of several stalls, the troll turned to face the puny children who dared to bother it. The beast was at least twelve feet tall and easily half that at its widest. Dull, stupid eyes blinked out from underneath a heavy brow and bald head. Its skin was grey and stony, teeth like broken rock. The creature bellowed and swung its club. Harry and Neville dove to either side, causing the troll to crack the floor instead of their skulls. "Outside," cried Harry, "we need to get it away from Hermione!"

Neville wasted no time in talking, instead bolting out of the open door closely followed by Harry. The troll roared again and lumbered after them; the windows shook from the thunderous impacts of elephanntine feet. The two were halfway down the long hall before the troll had made its exit from the room and Neville half whispered, half whimpered, "What now?"

Harry was at a loss, his mind blank. The troll was trundling towards them, picking up speed. He raised his wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind: _"Inscis!"_

A short arc of magic flew from his wand and hit the troll squarely in the face. The creature dropped to its knees and howled, fumbling at its ruined eye. Harry's mind suddenly spat out a solution. He glanced upwards. "Neville, use the cutting spell on that chain, hit the middle!"

Neville looked up as well, taking aim. The troll had skidded to a stop directly underneath a large wrought-iron chandelier, one with a rather large and sharp-looking spike on its underside. He and Harry incanted at the same time _"Inscis!"_

A much more visible arc flew through the air, their combined spell leaving ripples in its wake as it sliced cleanly through the metal links in one go. The chandelier dropped like a stone, plunging the pointed underside deep into the troll's skull and then dragging the beast's torso to the floor underneath the weight. The boys stood a moment as the dust settled and a pool of blood began to form, stunned by the grisly success, then rushed towards the bathroom. Harry called out again as they entered, "Hermione!"

A faint squeak came from the stall at the end of the room. Harry opened the door to find Hermione, covered in wood chips and a bit of water. She flung herself against him, sobbing uncontrollably. Harry turned them around so that he faced Neville while gesturing at the crying girl with a look of alarm. Neville looked just as hopeless as Harry did. A moment later several teachers burst into the lavatory. Professor McGonagall was the first to speak: "What is going on here!"

Harry tried to turn to face her, but Hermione was wrapped quite firmly around his neck at that point and he teetered dangerously. He gave it up as a bad job and shrugged. Neville picked up the slack. "We-we c-came to find Hermione. H-Harry said that she was in this bathroom and w-wouldn't know about the troll."

Harry had managed to turn so that he faced the flabbergasted professor when she asked: "And how did Mister Potter know that Miss Granger was here?"

"I overheard some of the girls in my house talking about it. She was in here because that Weasley bloke in Gryffindor upset her. We came to warn her about the troll."

"An' so why is there a dead troll outside of this room then?"

Harry and Neville glanced at each other. "We drew its attention away from Hermione, it was chasing us. We used Professor Flitwick's cutting spell to drop the chandelier."

By this point several other professors had entered the bathroom. Sprout looked alarmed, Flitwick proud, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. The aged man stepped forward. "As well done as could be done by first years. You put the safety of another before your own. Each of you take ten points for your houses. Now, I think I may have something to help Miss Granger."

Dumbledore drew his wand and flicked it. Hermione instantly loosened her grip on Harry, smiling contentedly. The white-haired mage smiled again. "A slight cheering charm to help with the shock. Professor Flitwick, if you would be so kind as to escort the young lady to your common room? And you boys should head off to your own houses as well; it's not good for growing boys to stay up too late past curfew!"

8*8*8*8*8

Two weeks later found the students of Hogwarts in the middle of November; the air chilled and the faintest hints of frost began to make themselves known on the tops of the taller towers. After the events of the Halloween fiasco Harry found that Hermione had become very attached to both him and Neville, him moreso than the other boy. He found that every free moment that the two could feasibly be in proximity, they were; Harry was absolutely befuddled as to why. Not that he was complaining, he enjoyed having such close friends: she and Neville always had something to do if no homework was in need of doing, usually either examining some new moss or algae or spending time in the library. Harry had even, upon seeing few people in Ravenclaw talk to Hermione for any length of time, invited her to sit next to him at the Hufflepuff table after asking Professor sprout if he was allowed to do so.

"Why of course she can," the rather cherubic teacher had replied, "there's always room for one more at my House's table!" And so it was that, on a bright Saturday morning, Hermione was the first to notice that Harry had gotten a letter. He had been tucking into a bit of fried egg when she had nudged his shoulder.

"Harry, I think that owl's for you." Harry looked up; indeed, the owl did seem to be gazing as him expectantly. When it noticed that he had seen it, the bird hopped over a plate of sausages and extended a talon tied to which was an off-white envelope. Harry hesitantly untied the parcel and then offered the bird a strip of bacon. The owl screeched, and as Harry flinched it snatched the morsel out of his fingers with its beak and flew off. Hermione huffed.

"Well, that was rather rude." She pouted a bit before turning to Harry. "So, who is it from?"

Harry read the letter twice before handing it to Hermione and walking towards the Head Table. She read:

_Harry,_

_My name is Rita Skeeter and I was wondering if I might ask a favour of you. I was told by a very good friend of mine that a troll managed to enter Hogwarts on Halloween., my how frightening! I was also told that you single-handedly held off the beast until the teachers arrived just in time to see you finish it off, oh how brave!_

_The favour I ask is that you would be so kind as to write down the story as you remember it and send it to me so that I might be able to put the story in the Daily Prophet; I'm sure you would love to see your name in print, I know I did the first time I saw mine! By the by, could you also include an autograph? I know you must be asked at all hours of the day, but I would very much appreciate having your signature._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Rita Skeeter_

Hermione had finished reading the letter for the third time before Harry returned with Dumbledore following closely behind with a slight frown. Harry wordlessly gestured for the parchment before handing it to the Headmaster. The old man's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he read. "Ah, I see." His genial smile returned. "Am I to take it, then, that this kind of mail makes you uncomfortable, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "I, I've never known anyone in the press before. I don't know if I should reply, should I?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment before speaking. "Do you want to? I can understand that you might want to, as they say, 'bask in the glow' of your accomplishments. Certainly this would make for rather fantastic reading: everyone from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley and beyond would be talking about your exploits for months to come."

Harry's eyes widened. "No! No, er…" He looked down, sheepish after his outburst. "I don't really want any extra attention. I've had enough of that already."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he smiled at Harry in approval. "Shall I send a letter to Miss Skeeter and the Daily Prophet to say that you have no comment on the matter and that they please refrain from any similar correspondence?"

Harry was relieved; he inhaled slowly and deeply before saying: "I would like that very much, Professor Dumbledore. Thank you."

The old wizard nodded slowly, still smiling, and then returned to the staff table. Harry fell into his seat, sighing gratefully as he bit into a bit of hash. Hermione looked at him quizzically. "I didn't think that being in the newspapers would bother you so: you're in several books already."

Harry took his time to respond, finishing off his plate before saying: "Just the thought of having my story read by so many people, having people older than me talking about it for weeks on end…" Harry shuddered. "I don't think that I'd like being at the centre of attention. I'd rather be off to the side and happy, thank you."

Hermione's next round of questions was interrupted by Neville's unexpected and sudden presence at the table. "Gee, Harry, I didn't know you knew Dumbledore!"

"I don't. We were talking about a letter." Harry recounted, more or less, what had been in the writing. Neville frowned.

"My Gran's talked about Skeeter;" he said, "She reckons the woman's a menace. Wrote that horrible thing in the paper about how the goblins are getting lax at Gringott's because someone managed to get into a vault." Harry looked at Neville askance.

"Someone broke _into_ a Gringott's vault? They're mad."

"Yea, that's what gran said. Skeeter took it all out of context though: the vault was empty and unguarded, one of the ones people use temporarily. The only reason she made any fuss over it was because it was one of the celebrity vaults, the seven-hundreds." Hermione blinked confusedly.

"What does the number matter?" Neville shrugged.

"We like the number seven, the seven hundred vaults are used by old families for trust vaults and celebrities use them for luck. I think Gilderoy Lockheart has vault seven-hundred-seventy-seven. Lucky blighter." Harry snorted laughter into his toast and eggs.

"Anyway, I thought that you'd gone up there to talk to Hagrid." At this both Harry and Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion.

Hermione managed to find her voice first. "Why on earth would you think that?"

Neville shrugged. "I dunno, he asked me yesterday to tell Harry that if he ever wanted to know more about his parents, Hagrid knew them pretty well."

Harry froze momentarily whilst refilling his plate. "Well," he said in a slightly strained voice, "I guess we should join Hagrid for tea, then?"

* * *

><p>Several people had decided to take advantage of the pleasant weather and spend the day outside; many figures could be seen flying over the quidditch pitch while other students relaxed by the lake to the south. Harry even recognised several of his housemates playing some form of sport on a by-the-way hill on his trek to meet Hagrid, accompanied by Hermione and Neville. Hagrd's home had turned out to be just on the edge of the forbidden forest, northeast of the castle proper. The hut, for a hut though it most certainly was, was <em>massive<em>. Easily every bit of twenty feet tall at the point of the circular roof, and nearly forty feet across at the base. After recovering a bit from the scale of the building, Harry knocked on the rather intimidating large door. After a moment it opened and Harry realised why the hut was so large: Hagrid was a giant of a man, easily twelve feet tall and almost half of that wide at the shoulder. The bearded man looked down at the three visitors and smiled, crinkling what little skin was visible around his eyes through the mass of shaggy hair. A voice managed to make its way through the beard: rough and low, but kind.

"Ah, been wonderin' if ye'd be down terday. Fancy a cuppa?" The giant gestured through the door and Harry, after glancing to his two companions, entered. The students found themselves in a simple home: there was only the one room filled with a table, a few chairs, a massive bed, and a hearth with a low fire smouldering underneath a large cast-iron kettle. Hagrid settled into the largest chair around the table after setting a pot of tea on to boil.

"Ahh," he groaned, "Tha's better." He seemed content to just sit for a moment before starting suddenly.

"O' sorry, didn't introduce meself: Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' the Keys and Grounds o' Hogwarts. Pleased ter meet yer again, Harry." He held out a massive, spadelike hand and Harry took it and shook.

"You know me?" Hagrid grinned.

"Oh, yea, known you fer a long time now, bu' we'll get ter that inna minute. I know Neville here, he helps me ter find some herbs on the edge of the forest now an' again, but who're you?" He asked kindly, looking to Hermione. She gulped nervously.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Oh, now, don't be nervous around' me; just Hagrid'll do jus' fine. Now then," he turned again to Harry, "Abou' how I know ye. Well, I suppose it starts wit yer parents bein' here at Hogwarts. I met 'em when they was first crossin' the lake, like you lot. Yer da' and one of his mates were inna boat wit me on the crossin. Kept tryin' ter dunk each other inter the water. Had ter hold 'em by the scruff o' their robes till we made landfall." Harry grinned a bit in spite of himself, this was the first time anyone had ever spoken of his parents out loud and it was good to hear someone remember them fondly. Hagrid seemed to be enjoying himself as he continued.

"Yer dad caused all sorts o' mischief in his day, earned more detentions wit' me than any other student in all my years. Kept trying' ter sneak off inter the forest for one odd reason or other. Anyway, got on friendly terms wit him through his detentions; didn't really know yer mum until 'bout her sixth year when he brought 'er with 'im on walkabouts o' the grounds." A whistle sounded from near the fire.

"Oh, hold on, tea's done." Hagrid lifted himself out of the chair, the wood underneath his hands protesting as he did so, and retrieved the tea kettle from its perch by the fire. Harry noticed that the man didn't use any mitts to do so, but Hermione beat him to the point.

"Mr. Hagrid," she screamed "what on earth are you doing?" Hargid looked up from pouring the tea, startled.

"Nuffin, jus' getting' the tea out of the, oh!" He looked down at his hands after noticing Hermione's worried expression.

"Oh, don't you worry about' that; I reckon I'm put tergether a mite bit tougher than you lot are. Who wants tea?" Harry and Neville accepted their cups with silent thanks, but Hermione was watching Hagrid's hands as he served her. Harry knew from her expression that she didn't want to let the matter drop, so steered the conversation back on track.

"So, what about after my parents went to school? You said that you started as friends while they were here; did you stay in touch after they left?"

"Hmm? Oh, yea; more than' kept in touch; yer mum an' dad were fightin' You-Know-Who all through the war, same as me. We got inter a lot o' bad spots but yer parents always got us out again. Good people, they were. When they went inter hidin' cause they was gonna have you, tha' was the last time I saw 'em alive." Hagrid shook his head sadly. Then he brightened.

"Firs' time I met you, though, I was the one what pulled you outta the remains of yer house on that Halloween. You kept tryin' ter eat my beard." Hagrid and the others laughed as Harry pulled his face in mild disgust.

"Haha, yea, flew you probably over a hun'red miles to where I gave you ter Dumbledore. He was busy, like, gettin' everythin' back in order after You-Know-Who died. I was the only one 'e trusted ter do the job." Hermione perked up again.

"Why was that?" Hagrid chortled.

""Cause there's no one an' no thing what can stop me once I get goin'. S'also why he had me go ter Gringott's to get-" Hagrid blanched and stopped mid-sentence. Hermione latched on, probing for information.

"To get what?" Hagrid shook his head vigorously.

"No, no, nope. I'm not telling' you lot tha'. Tha's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel, tha' is." Hagrid's eyes widened again.

"Oh, look at the time, it's really goin' you lot prolly have more ter do than sit aroun' guffin' wit an old blighter like me." He stood up and ushered the children to the door.

"Now, 'arry, anytime you feel like havin' a story 'bout yer parents, come on down and we'll have a cuppa. Bu' listen to me, you three: don't go meddlin' in Dumbledore's business, eh?" The three barely had time to nod before having Hagrid's door shut in their collective faces. Harry and Neville turned to look at Hermione, who had a very familiar glint in her eyes.

"Harry, I'll give you a galleon if you can guess what question is on Hermione's mind right now." Harry smirked.

"Is it: who is Nicholas Flamel?" Hermione didn't bother to chide her two best male friends, instead walking back towards the castle on an obvious mission to visit the library. Sighing exasperatedly, the two boys followed.


End file.
